


Inside A Different Side

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Loneliness, M/M, Orange juice - Freeform, Power Issues, Responsibility, Rich Sherlock and Poor John, Sherlock Needs To Grow Up, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a desperate attempt to earn money for medical school, John takes a service job, working for the wealthy and intimidating Holmes family. Their youngest son Sherlock is a welcome distraction until he disappears. Did John make a mistake assuming that feelings can overcome the vast differences between them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John's New Job

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"Hey, are you listening?"

John snapped his eyes back to the older woman and nodded even though he had no idea what she'd been saying. He had been too busy looking around the vast kitchen, wondering how someone could need so many things. In a kitchen. 

"Pay attention, boy. There's a big dinner tonight, some out of town guests, and you can't be messing up when we're serving. Do you understand?"

"Yes," John nodded. He made more of an effort to listen to her as she explained what would be served first, on which side of the guests to stand, and what his duties were while everyone was eating. He sighed at the thought of it. How could this family live like this when his struggled so much? But he reminded himself that the money from this job would help his family, so it had to be done.  

Upstairs Sherlock was sitting at his desk, irritated. His brother had arranged for a big party, painting it as if somehow Sherlock was the guest of honour -- how could one be a guest of honour in one's own home? -- and Sherlock had absolutely no interest in going and interacting with the people Mycroft would have inevitably invited.

Because they had spent most of their lives being called the elite, they were so full of themselves -- they thought they were the most powerful people in the country, and because of their financial wealth, they probably were. But they were dull and snobbish and incredibly stupid.

It wasn't that Sherlock didn't like people of his class, though; he just didn't like people. It didn't matter if they were rich or poor, powerful or weak. He wasn't interested and thus was very bad at personal interactions. To be fair, his brother wasn't any better at it than Sherlock was -- but he had gone a different route: he worked hard to control people. Sherlock just wanted nothing to do with them.

Not only did this party mean he'd need to interact with people, he knew that the unspoken goal was more than just interacting -- he'd been getting pressure from his brother and parents to find a girlfriend. Mycroft could be married to his work, but that apparently wasn't an option for Sherlock. The last time he had spoken to his mother she had mentioned that his grumpy teenager phase was lasting entirely too long. The irony, of course, was all of this was making Sherlock feel even more like sullenly pouting, which is precisely what he was doing at his desk.

John was setting the vast table and repeating the rules in his head. Who knew that serving dinner could be so complicated? The food or drinks went down to the right of the guest to be taken away on the left. He had to watch for small head nods, a raised glass, or listen for snapping fingers. He was only allowed to say 'yes sir' or 'yes ma'am' because a proper server was hardly seen and never heard.

John thought it was all a bit dramatic, really. They were already being served like kings -- the extra rules seemed silly. He had only heard of the Holmes family and was eager to see them. So many rumours flew around the small town it was hard to know what was true or not. Maybe working here he'd be able to find out some things for himself. 

"You've put the silverware on the wrong side of the plate."

John snapped out of his thoughts and looked around to find a girl around his age pointing. He didn't know her -- she didn't work in the kitchen -- but she definitely worked somewhere.

"What?"

"You've done the silverware wrong," she said again. She was arranging flowers, and he assumed she must work on the grounds.

John looked at the table and cursed under his breath, moving faster now to fix it all. "Thanks," he said. He could feel her watching but he didn't look up at her again and by the time he'd fixed all the plates, she was gone again. He double checked it all before going to the kitchen for his next assignment.

"Stop it, Sherlock," Mycroft said from the doorway and Sherlock glanced up, feeling a bit strange not knowing how long he'd been being watched.

"Stop what?" Sherlock asked.

"Pouting," Mycroft said, coming into the room. "You're not a child, you're a man. A Holmes man and, as such, you have responsibilities. It is absolutely irrelevant whether or not you want them, you have them. So grow up and stand up and get yourself ready." 

Of course what was most frustrating was that Mycroft was right. Obviously Sherlock had the right to refuse to get married -- his family wasn't that powerful -- but he couldn't refuse their ridiculous attempts to pressure him into socialising. He would not be able to skip this party -- no matter how inspired his pouting might be.

He stood up and moved to his room to get dressed.

"In one hour, I expect to see you downstairs and ready. And smiling," Mycroft said as he left.

As the time wound down closer and closer to the start of dinner, everyone in the kitchen was scrambling about, stressed and muttering under their breaths. John tried to stay out of the way as he filled crystal pitchers with water. As he was finishing up the woman that had been shouting at him before approached, examining the pitchers.

"You'll be in charge of drinks. You watch for what the guest is asking for, because they won't speak to you. You know the difference between the wine glass and the water glass?" 

"Yes," John said dully.

She narrowed her eyes and nodded. "Good. Go get dressed."

John nodded and hurried off to the rooms assigned to each of them, putting on the tuxedo that would match the rest of the staff. When he came back he could hear people talking, taking their seats. He was anxious to get inside, wanting to see what everyone was doing, but all he kept envisioning was spilling wine on someone or dropping a pitcher. He took a deep breath and started to bounce with nerves. 

Sherlock came downstairs and met his brother and parents in the foyer. His brother looked over, inspecting him. His mother fussed his hair and told him to smile.

"Don't make that face," she said. "Maybe you'll meet someone nice. Just don't be horrible at least, please."

The truth is Sherlock never tried to be horrible, which made him wonder if perhaps he was just naturally horrible. His goal wasn't to be cruel or rude or off putting, but he just couldn't tolerate uninteresting people and he'd yet to meet anyone interesting in situations like this.

As the people began arriving, Sherlock stood silently, trying not to look bored or unpleasant as the rest of his family smiled and made small talk. A maid then led the guests into the dining room. Sherlock watched and wondered if he'd have a chance to nip out for a cigarette before the meal was served.

"Go fill the glasses," the woman snapped at John, shuffling him out of the kitchen. "Then stand by your table there and wait to refill glasses, understood?"

John nodded and hurried out, carrying a pitcher of water first. He filled all of the glasses as he tried to watch the guests -- not a single one of them looking at him, not even glancing. He refilled the pitcher and then started filling the wine glasses, moving quickly while being careful not to spill a single drop. He wondered if any of these people were the Holmes family, or if there would be some sort of announcement when they actually came into the room. Once he was finished he moved back to his spot and put his hands behind his back, watching carefully in case anyone needed more.

Sherlock quickly realised there'd be no quick escape. Once the last person was seated, he and his family came in and took their seats. Thankfully, he was well away from Mycroft. He was sat with a woman on each side and after spending a few minutes talking to each, he was already bored. He glanced at his watch -- this would last at least three hours and already he was bored. He took a long drink of water and did his best to blur his vision and his hearing so that it all became a fuzzy drone in his head.

John had been foolish to think he wouldn't know the family when he saw them. They walked in very last and took the two end seats while the boys took other open seats randomly along the table. One -- John assumed the oldest -- looked stern and mean, like every ounce of his power was going into either impressing or terrifying everyone in the room. He literally looked down his nose at people, speaking crisply. 

The other boy . . . John didn't know what to think. He felt warm looking at him, even though he also looked a bit mean. He had black, curly hair very unlike his brother's which sat neat and boring. Within a few minutes the younger boy seemed to have mentally checked out, his eyes glazing over. John wondered what he was thinking out, still staring when someone nudged his arm. John looked around and saw someone looking into their empty water glass. He hurried over and filled it, realising then that several people were needing refills. He moved around and tried to sneak glances at the curly-haired boy.

At some point, food was placed in front of Sherlock and he pushed it around his plate with his fork. An older couple across the table were asking him a question and he was skilled enough to be able to hold an entire conversation with them without really registering what any of them -- including himself -- was really saying. He drank more water and, noticing his glass was empty, held it up to catch someone's attention.

John felt his stomach flip wildly when the curly-haired boy raised his water glass. He wiped his hands on his trousers before picking up the pitcher and heading over to him. As he tipped the pitcher he studied the boy's face, pouring slowly so he wouldn't spill it. He had sharp features -- high cheekbones and a wonderfully curved mouth. His skin looked very soft. John glanced at the glass and finished filling it, pulling the pitcher back. He knew he should go but he hesitated, something that worked out for him when the woman next to the boy held up her glass for water too.

"Thank you," Sherlock said to the boy who poured his water and when the woman next to him said nothing after her glass was refilled, he said, "Thank you again" on her behalf. He watched the boy rush away, moving to serve someone else at the other end of the table.

Once the dinner plates were cleared, Sherlock had had enough. He looked over, pleading with Mycroft, but he just shook his head. Eventually he stood up abruptly and said, "I need the toilet" and left the room. The minute he shut the door and was alone in the hallway, he was felt good, even though he knew the escape was only temporary and that he would undoubtedly face his family's anger once everyone was gone.

John watched the boy get up and leave and wished he could follow, wished he could make some excuse to leave as well. But even if he needed the bathroom they had their own down in their quarters and he doubted he could roam around the house. He focused on pouring his drinks, the wine dwindling down faster and faster as more courses were served.

Sherlock snuck out one of the doors in back and had a quick cigarette. The nicotine buzzed his head a little and he decided to go back in. His father and mother looked at him disapprovingly as he returned to his seat. To make up for it, he started a chat with the young woman on his left, moving his hands wildly to appear to his brother and mother that he was actually interested in what he was saying.

John had to disappear into the kitchen to refill the pitchers, still thinking about the boy. He didn't know what was wrong with him -- he refused to think about it at the moment. He came out again and was glad to see that the boy was back, but he was now talking very animatedly with the woman beside him. He felt his stomach heat with . . . jealousy? . . . and he had to fight the urge to spill something on her. Within minutes he was moving around the table again, silently filling wine glasses and dodging the moving hands of guests as the wine started to take effect.

Sherlock ended the conversation and looked down the table, smirking at Mycroft. He refused to allow the plate full of dessert to be set in front of him and even though coffee was now being served, he requested a cup of tea instead.

John looked around at the other servers who looked back at him with the same looks. No one had made tea tonight because coffee had been specified as the after dinner drink. John said, "Um . . . I will make some now. It'll be right out, sir." He put the pitcher down and hurried into the kitchen, looking for the kettle and tea. The cook helped him find some tea and he started the kettle. He returned to the table. "How do you take it?" he asked. It felt like every eye in the room on him and his face was burning.

"Just milk, please," Sherlock said.

The boy returned with a pot of tea and a pitcher of milk. "Thank you. . . once again," Sherlock said to him. He looked around the table. Mycroft looked irritated and that pleased Sherlock. He drank his tea and pretended to listen to the conversations going on around him.

John took up his post at the pitchers again and had to hurry to catch up, several people with empty glasses now. He'd felt strange before when no one was looking at him, but he wished that were the case again as he was sure they were shooting him dirty looks now. He hoped he wasn't going to get fired and he made a mental note to keep the kettle going the next time. But his thank you . . . John felt his stomach warm at the thought of it.

Finally guests started leaving and John almost started cleaning up in the commotion before he remembered he wasn't allowed. He had to wait until everyone was gone.

Sherlock was thankful when the evening was over. He stayed next to his parents as the guests left. When they were gone, his brother said, "You are incredibly childish, Sherlock. Why? Why do you insist on being like that?"   
  
Sherlock looked at his mother who didn't add anything but didn't tell Mycroft to stop. "Because I hate this. If you like it, fine. But I do not and forcing me to go . . . what am I supposed to do?"  
  
"Act like a grown up," his brother huffed. 

"Why, when no one treats me like one?" Sherlock shouted.

Mycroft's eyes darted towards the door to the dining room. "Keep your voice down," he said quietly.

"Please, Sherlock," his mother said, "we're just trying to help you."  
  
He turned to look at her and saw the boy who brought him the tea watching them. "I don't need your help," he said quietly. "I'm different . . . than all this. It's not me and it doesn't matter how much you want me to fit in -- I don't. I'm sorry," he dropped his head and left the room, heading out to the back door for another cigarette.

John looked away quickly when he was caught staring. He didn't understand what the big deal was; he didn't the boy hadn't done anything childish or odd. In the kitchen, he moved to the sink to dump out all of the water but was knocked to the side.

"Outside! Dump it in the flowers, don't you see they're busy washing plates?"

John nodded and rolled his tray outside, carefully moving over the bumpy lawn and dumping glass after glass of water into the flowers. Smoke reached his nostrils and he looked up, flushing when he saw the boy was outside as well. He opened his mouth to say something but didn't know if he should. He turned back to his work, glancing over every time he reached for a glass.

"Did you come out here to spy on me? It wasn't interesting enough listening to the conversation -- you needed to see how it all ends?" Sherlock said aloud, not looking over.

"Wha-no!" John said quickly, almost dropping the glass he was holding. "No, I-they are washing plates and they wouldn't let me. I didn't know you were . . . sorry." He could have hit himself. He panicked and stammered through an answer that probably made no sense at all. 

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "If you stay working here, you'll get to see the whole show -- it's pretty much on repeat almost every night of the week." He looked over at John. "Do you want one?" he said, holding out his pack.

John shook his head. "No thanks." He emptied two more glasses before looking over at Sherlock again. He was curious about what he'd seen before and, even though he probably wasn't supposed to be talking with him, he figured they already were now anyways. So he went for it. "Why were they shouting at you? I didn't understand what you did wrong."

"I'm not like them and apparently that's wrong," Sherlock said. "Are your parents like that to you?"

John shook his head again. "They are too busy getting on my sister's case. She deserves to be yelled at . . ." He trailed off and shrugged. "Anyways, they both work but don't make very much so I got a job to help out. They don't like it but they know we need it. It's hard to get a position here." 

"Is this what you want then -- is this what you aspire to, pouring glasses of water for people? You don't think maybe you should aim a little higher?"

John had stopped working now and had moved closer to where Sherlock was standing, leaning on the wall with him. "I want to be a doctor, but we can't afford to send me to school right now. So, for now, this is what I will be doing," he said. He kept his voice even, not sure if Sherlock was being mean or just bluntly asking. 

"Fuck, seriously?" Sherlock lit another cigarette. "You want to be a doctor and you're serving my parents' friends drinks? I have no idea how much you're getting paid, but I can't really see this plan working."

"It is, though, because we are saving all of our money and every little bit helps," John said. "And honestly, I get paid more pouring drinks for your family than both of my parents," he added. "My mum does laundry for local families that are too busy and my dad just sells fruits and vegetables in the market."  

"What about your friends? Do they think this is a good plan?"

John shrugged. "I don't really have any," he said. "People my age have left for uni already, or are working to save money as well. I don't talk to a lot of people. Speaking of friends, looks like you found a good one at dinner." His voice was light and teasing and he wondered if he was even allowed to do that. Oh well. He had now so he waited. 

"I don't have any friends," Sherlock said, John's joke sailing right over his head.

"Not even that woman at dinner? You seemed to be getting along very well," he said. 

"You need to pay better attention," Sherlock said.

"Me? It seemed a bit obvious," John said. 

"Hey! Where are those glasses?" 

John jumped away from the wall and looked towards the door. "I have to go. It was nice talking to you," he said, offering him a small smile. He realized he never got his first name as he went back to his try and hurriedly emptied the rest of the glasses. He glanced back one more time before pushing the tray inside.

"What took so long?"

"I just wanted to make sure they were finished before I came back."

"Well, get them over there, we want to go to bed!"

John pushed the try over to those finishing up the dishes and was excused to bed. He left quickly, closed himself in his room and flopped down on the bed. He was replaying the conversation, wondering if maybe this job wouldn't be so bad after all.  

When Sherlock was alone in his room, he thought about the conversation he'd had outside. It was weird talking to that guy -- it was weird that someone close to his age actually worked here in his house. Then he thought for a moment about the other people who worked here. He realised he didn't have the slightest idea about any of their ages, he'd never even noticed any of them before. Pathetic -- he hated when found himself behaving like his brother.

Why had he noticed this guy? Not only noticed him -- spoke to him, had an actual, kind of conversation with him? Sherlock fell to sleep wondering.


	2. Sherlock's Lab

John rose early the next morning, loading his tray this time with orange juice, tea, coffee, and water. Apparently even without guests the Holmes were still very formal -- at least they ate every meal together. John hurried out to his spot and hoped that -- John should really learn his name -- wasn't too mad at the family and would actually be there. 

"Hey."

John looked up and saw that girl again -- the one arranging the flowers. "Hi," John said. 

"Let's go for a walk later," she said, stepping closer. 

John didn't know why but he immediately moved around his try so it was between them. "What?"

"A walk through the grounds. You'll have a break until lunch."

"Um . . . maybe," he said vaguely. If that boy went outside again John would rather go see him. The girl smiled and left. John rolled his tray out and stood by, waiting for requests.   

Sherlock walked lazily to the table in the morning. He hoped that they weren't going to have to have a 'debrief' about last night. He already knew what would be said -- from his mother, from Mycroft -- he even knew what he himself would say. It'd be the same as always.

The guy from last night was there in the dining room. Sherlock smiled at him when he saw him, even though he wasn't sure why. He sat down. "Can I get some orange juice?" he said aloud.

"What are your plans for the day, Sherlock?" his father asked.

"I haven't decided yet," Sherlock said.

"And what choices have you narrowed it down to -- staring out the window, playing the violin, or writing obnoxious comments about internet articles? Yes, that must be a very difficult decision for you," Mycroft said. "Do you think getting dressed might be on the agenda at all?"  
  
Sherlock stared at his plate. Then he picked up his glass and drank the entire thing. "Can I get some more orange juice, please?" he said, not looking over at the boy.

When John poured Sherlock's -- oh, Sherlock was an interesting name -- he realised his hand was shaking slightly and he gripped the pitcher harder to steady it. He hesitated again but Sherlock's brother asked for more water so John had to leave and do that. Then he was at his post again, shooting dirty looks at the brother. 

"I haven't decided about getting dressed. I've got quite an extensive pro's and con's list going upstairs. I'll get back to work on that after breakfast." He drank all his orange juice again. "More orange juice, please," he said.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft asked.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said.

"What's this -- " he motioned to the orange juice glass -- "behaviour all about?"  
  
"Orange juice is part of a healthy breakfast, Mycroft," Sherlock said. He reached over and picked up the newspaper his father had discarded.

John bit his lip to keep from chuckling. "Excuse me, I just have to fill the pitcher again," he said, moving back into the kitchen. He grinned wide, filling the pitcher again. He took a breath to compose himself as he went back out into the dining room. He filled all of the water glasses, gave Sherlock's brother more coffee and then stood by his tray. 

The conversation at the table was over now. Sherlock flipped the pages of the newspaper mindlessly. He drank his orange juice and then set the empty glass down again. "More, please," he said aloud. 

John was starting to become genuinely worried about him now, having taken down a whole pitcher already. He felt his brother's eyes fixed on him but he didn't dare look over at him. He filled Sherlock's glass and moved back to his spot. 

"Take that to the kitchen. We're done now," Mycroft said. 

Hesitating, John started to wheel the tray back to the kitchen.  

It was silent in the dining room again. Eventually, Sherlock said, "Well, that pro's and con's list won't get written by itself. I'm off," he stood up, but instead of walking out, he pushed through the door to the kitchen. He looked at the orange juice guy. "What's your name?" he asked.

John was so stunned that for a moment he actually forgot. "John. John Watson," he answered. The whole kitchen was watching them and for a moment he thought he was in trouble. 

"And what's your favourite type of sandwich, John Watson?" he asked him.

"My . . .what?" he asked, completely thrown by the question. "Um, turkey and swiss. Nothing else on it," he said. His brain seemed to be moving a bit slowly.

"Okay, then, nice to meet you," Sherlock said. "Thanks for the orange juice."  
  
Sherlock turned and left the kitchen, walking straight through the dining room without speaking to anyone. Instead of going upstairs, though, he went into the staff office. "Leonore, could you please ask John Watson to bring my food up to my room this lunch time? I'll be working and won't have time to come down."  
  
"Who's John Watson?" the woman asked.

"Your newest staff member," he said.

"Of course, Mr Holmes," she said. "What would you like for lunch?" 

"A turkey and Swiss sandwich, nothing else on it. And a cup of tea, please," he said, ducking out and going up to his room.

John helped clean up in the kitchen and by the time he was done he only had about an hour until lunch time. That girl from before found him and forced him to go on the walk, introducing herself and sharing stories about working here at the manor. She didn't have a lot of nice things to say, which he could kind of agree with after breakfast but when she started on Sherlock he had to stop her. 

"I've talked to him and he seems nice -- not like the others," he said. She scoffed and John found his anger flaring again. "I'm serious."

"John, we're not allowed to talk to them. I mean -- not like friends. They don't have friends."

"You're wrong," John said, and he glared when she laughed at him. "I told you, he's not like them."

"You don't even know him," she said, stopping now to face him. 

John was about to say something back when he heard someone calling him. He said a quick goodbye and went back to the house. Leonore handed him a tray with a covered plate, a mug of tea and the milk. "Take this up to Sherlock's room. You take the stairs, go all the way to the end, turn right, and it's the first room on the left." She pushed him lightly and he set off to find the room. Did they not eat lunch together? He was under the impression that they did. When he found the door he balanced the tray and knocked, quickly grabbing it with both hands again.  

"Hi, John Watson," Sherlock said when he opened the door. "Here, bring that in, please."

Once John set the tray down, Sherlock asked, "Have you had your lunch yet?"

"No, we always eat after we're finished serving," he said. John set the tray on his desk and stepped towards the door again. "Um, want me to take anything back?"

"Why don't you stay for a few minutes?" he looked up at the clock. "You've got fifteen minutes before lunch is served." He lifted the cover of the plate. "It's the kind you like. Why don't you eat before you go back down?"

John looked at the sandwich and once again felt like his brain had stopped working. He looked at Sherlock again and smiled. "I couldn't, that's yours," he added. He wanted Sherlock to know that he couldn't eat his lunch, but he could stay and hang out, just for a bit.

"I don't want it. My stomach hurts . . . from all that orange juice. I just wanted the tea. I got the sandwich . . . for you."

John looked up at him again and felt his cheeks flush lightly. "Thank you," he said quietly, moving to get the sandwich. "Um…if you drink your tea black it will help settle your stomach better than if it has milk in it," he said. He stood near the desk and ate slowly. "You must really like orange juice," he teased, smiling over at him

"I don't like it all," he said. "I was just being childish." He looked awkwardly at the floor. "So what do you like doing when you're not working?" he asked.

"Reading," John said. "I go to the library a lot and hang out there. Or, if I can find enough people to play rugby, but it's hard now that we're all working. What about you?"

"I don't like playing rugby," Sherlock said. "But I do read." Sherlock felt like he wanted to talk to John, to interact like he was always being told to do. But he realised he didn't really know how. After a few minutes of silence, he said, "Can you do me a favour? I'm not going to go down to lunch. Could you give this note to my mother? It's nothing big, it's just explaining why I won't be there. You don't even have to give it to her -- you can just leave it at her place at the table. I don't want to make you feel awkward, but I'd really appreciate it if you did." He handed John an envelope. 

"Oh, yeah," John nodded, taking the note from him. "Um, can I ask what it says?" He looked up and waited nervously. He felt oddly comfortable around Sherlock, perhaps because he was so different from the rest of the family.

"It just says I'm going out to work in my lab," Sherlock said. He didn't really want to explain anything else.

"Lab? Like . . .a science lab? I mean for experiments?" He glanced at the time and sighed. "Sorry. . .I have to go. Tell me next time, yeah?" He smiled and took the try, leaving the tea for Sherlock.

"What took you so long?" Leonore hissed when he got back downstairs.

"I. . .he wanted me to bring the tray back." It seemed like a better answer than the truth. He wondered if she would have believed that anyways.

"Well, hurry up. Lunch is starting," she said. John filled the pitchers with water and fruit juice, wheeling the tray to his spot.  He put the letter down at Mrs Holmes's seat just before they came in. He watched her read it and then hand it to Mr Holmes with a sigh.

"Who is John Watson?" Mr Holmes said.

"I have no idea," Mrs Holmes answered. "But I'm not interested in fighting with him today." She stood up from the table and went into the kitchen. "Where's Leonore?" she called out. 

"Here, Mrs Holmes," Leonore said, pushing through the other staff members. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"I want John Watson excused from lunch duty today. He's needed in another area on the grounds."

Leonore looked around the kitchen and then stepped out into the dining room motioning him over.

Mrs Holmes looked at John and said, "You're needed outside this afternoon. Go up to my son's room and he'll tell you what to do." Then she turned and went back to the table, muttering, "Thank you, Leonore."

John felt his face flush when he heard his name and thought he was going to get in trouble for eating Sherlock's lunch or delivering the note. But then that didn't happen at all. Someone came out to take over the drinks and John thanked everyone and left, heading back up to Sherlock's room. He knocked and, without thinking, just opened the door and peeked in. "You asked for me?" He didn't know what else to say. Why hadn't he mentioned that before?

"Ah, John Watson, you're back, good," Sherlock said. "I was thinking you could come with me, out to my lab. That seemed better than spending the afternoon watching my father chew his food." He grabbed a bag and then said, "Come on, I'll show you where it is."

"Oh, all right," John said, trying not to grin. "Is it not in the house?"

"No, it's one of the outbuildings. When I was younger, my experiments weren't always . . . successful so they made me move everything out there." Sherlock led them downstairs and through one of the side doors down a path through a wooded area. As they left the main grounds, the girl John had walked with earlier glanced up from the flowerbed she was weeding and watched them walk past.

John smiled at her but she merely scowled and continued working. John followed Sherlock and tried to put that out of his mind. "Did you blow things up?"

"I did, but I don't anymore, usually, at least," he said, unlocking a back building whose door faced away from the house. The building was made of stone and had a few windows higher up. Inside it was relatively bare except for a table and chairs in the middle and some metal shelves along the back wall. "Well, this is it," Sherlock said, walking over to a shelf and turning the radio on low. He took a bottle of water out of his bag and poured it into a kettle on the shelf and then turned it on. He set two mugs and a pint of milk next to it. Then he turned around and looked at John. "What do you think?"

John watched him set everything up and felt like they were hanging out. "I like it. It's nice that you have a space like this."

"It is, I mean, I know I'm lucky," he glanced up at John and then turned around and poured the tea. "It's just that house is so big but there are few places in it where I feel that comfortable. In here, I guess, I just feel like I can be me." He turned and motioned for John to sit down. "Milk or no milk?" he said.

John felt his affection for Sherlock -- is that what it was? -- go up. "Um. . .milk please. They're different, your family."

"They are," Sherlock said. "I try not to blame them -- it's just how they were raised, you know? But it's just not for me, I guess," he said awkwardly. "I need to get away but I don't know where to go."

"Are you going to school? You could easily," John said. He sipped at his tea and took a seat on one of the stools.

"I probably should have straight away, but I didn't and I don't know exactly what I want to do. I feel like until I know that I'll just be running away to another set of rules at a place I don't belong," Sherlock said, looking down at the table.

"I suppose that makes sense. I can't wait to go," he admitted, keeping his eyes on Sherlock. "I'm sorry you feel so alone," he said quietly. 

"Don't -- don't feel sorry for me," Sherlock said a little more sharply than he intended. "I mean, at least I don't have to do what you have to do. I know I'm lucky, I'm not trying to make it seem like 'poor me' -- I was just trying to answer your question, not get you to feel sympathy for me." 

"I'm sorry. . .that's not what I meant," John said gently. "Just because you don't have the same problems as me doesn't mean that they are less important. You can have money and still feel lonely. And I can be poor and want you to feel better," he said. "I know we're not . . .I know I work for your family but I don't mind if you vent to me."

Sherlock took a sip of tea. "Well, anyway . . . so is that girl your girlfriend or something?"

"Who? In the yard?" John asked, shaking his head. "No, I just met her. I think she. . .I don't know. I'm not really interested to be honest." He shrugged and looked down at his mug, not wanting to get into it at the moment. Or maybe ever. He was still figuring it all out.

"You already have a girlfriend elsewhere?" Sherlock noticed John's eyes move quickly and his nose crinkle and wondered what these things meant.

"No," John shook his head again. "Do you?"  He wanted to get off of the subject of him and dating.

"Obviously not," Sherlock said. "As you can see I can barely interact normally with someone I like, I can't really handle any kind of interaction with someone I have no interest in." That didn't come out exactly was he'd intended -- he wasn't entirely convinced it made sense -- but he had said it so he quickly added, "Do you have siblings then?" 

John wondered what that said about the fact that he was choosing to interact with him, but then remembered he was being paid. "I do. I have an older sister. I believe I mentioned her when I was eating in your room," John smiled softly, voice slightly teasing.

"Right, sorry," Sherlock felt his cheeks flush a little. "Does she work? Does she still live at home?" He was starting to think that he really was horrible at this -- that it wasn't about the other people, it was about him being bad at it. He wasn't even sure he was interested in this topic; he just literally could not think of anything else to say.

"Um, no. She's. . .she's a load of trouble, really. She drinks, so she can't really keep a job." John shrugged as if this didn't bother him. "They won't kick her out of course, I mean, she's family, but I don't think she'll learn if they don't."

"How'd you end up so sensible then?" Sherlock said.

"Am I?" He asked smiling. "I just want something better, I guess. I can't afford not to be."

"I am not sensible, John Watson, do you think that's going to be a problem for you?" Sherlock asked, "I mean . . . I don't know what I mean really. Sorry."

"I'll just be extra sensible," John smiled, finishing off his tea. Sherlock's words made his stomach feel warm and he wondered how much time Sherlock was expecting to spend with John. He couldn't consider this work, really, as they were just hanging out and he wondered how long he'd be allowed to get away with this. "Are you going to show me an experiment?"

"To be honest, no," Sherlock said. He supposed that spending time with John was an experiment in and of itself, but he had a feeling that probably wouldn't be the right thing to say. "I just didn't feel like going down to lunch and I felt bad you'd have to be there with them . . . I don't know what I was thinking, really."

John smiled at him and looked down at his empty mug. "So. . .will this be a regular thing, then?" he asked quietly, looking up again. "How long can I get away with that?"

"What do you mean get away with it? It's just part of your job, isn't it?" Sherlock said. "Would you want to do it again, maybe?"

"Yeah, I would. It's better than pouring drinks," John smiled. He also liked spending time with Sherlock, but he didn't know if he should admit that. 

"Maybe I should get you 'transferred' from kitchen duty to something else -- babysitting, maybe?" Sherlock smiled.

"I'm not complaining," John chuckled. "Could you do something like that?"

"Obviously. What Leonore is going to tell a member of the Holmes family no?" Sherlock said. "There must be some advantages . . . " Sherlock finished his tea. "Why don't you have a girlfriend?"

The question came so suddenly John had no time to control his response. "I'm not --" His brain caught up and shut his mouth up quickly. His face flushed and he looked down again. "I don't really know anyone. . ." 

"Well, that's clearly a lie," Sherlock said. "Fine, you don't have to tell me, but you should probably know that I can usually spot lies."

"But I really don't. I don't talk to anyone in town and -- I mean, if I went to school maybe. . ."

"Okay, fine," Sherlock said. "You know no one. Fine. Yet you start a new job and a pretty young woman is obviously flirting with you, you who know no one and yet without even getting to know her, you are already certain you're not interested in her. That's very . . . intriguing."

"Well, what about you? You're not dating anyone and women come here all the time for your fancy dinners," he said defensively.

"I don't tend to find women very interesting at all. I'm not quite sure why. I've never spent a lot of time with one besides my mother really and while she's got her faults, I certainly don't hate her or anything. I had teachers obviously, but I went to an all boys' school so I've just got very little experience. I don't really feel anything about women; I suppose that could change, of course, but that's how I feel right now," Sherlock said.

"Well. . .fine. So that's settled then. Now. . .do an experiment or something," John said, waving his hand.

"All right then," Sherlock said. He pulled out a drawer in the table and got out a piece of paper and a pen. He slid them over to John. "Write down your current level of comfort. Define that however you want -- temperature, heart rate, your body in the chair -- whatever. Use a scale of 1-10, 1 is horribly uncomfortable and 10 is extremely comfortable."

"Um. . .okay," John said writing down the number eight and sliding it over to Sherlock. "I'm not the experiment, am I?"

"Well, _we_ are," Sherlock said. "But don't worry -- I follow stringent ethical guidelines when doing my experiments." He stood up and moved near John, leaning over and looking at the sheet. "Eight? That's reassuring," he said, "and flattering." He pulled his chair over and sat down next to John, but didn't say anything else for a few minutes.

"Can you write down your current comfort level? Even if it's the same, please write it down," Sherlock then said.

John glanced over at him and had to admit that he was a bit more nervous now that Sherlock was closer. He wondered if that counted. He wrote down a seven.

Sherlock looked at the paper. "Fair enough," Sherlock said, "I'm less comfortable as well, I confess." He lifted one of his hands and rested it lightly on John's hand. He brushed his fingers across John's and then moved his hand away, setting it on his own leg.

"New rating, please," he said.

John's breath hitched in his throat and he had to hold back a small shiver. Sherlock's fingers might as well have been made of fire, the way they heated John's skin. He liked it. And it wasn't an accident. Sherlock had initiated it so that meant he was allowed to like it. Right? Unless it was just for the experiment. John swallowed hard and, flushing lightly, wrote an eight again. 

Sherlock glanced at the paper. Then he said, "Let's try something different . . . what do you want to do that would make you feel like writing down a nine?" He swallowed. "Do it -- even if it's getting up and leaving."

John bit his lip. This felt. . .strange. John worked here -- technically for Sherlock. And instead of doing his job they were. . .flirting. John pushed the thought away and pulled everything to the lab. The rest of the house -- the family, the employees, his job -- none of that existed in here. Not right now. He slid his hand over and touched the top of Sherlock's hand, getting the nerve to slip his hand between Sherlock's and the table, lace their fingers and hold his hand. He wrote a nine on the paper, hardly breathing. 

Sherlock was surprised -- he really thought that John was going to leave or at least move away. He realised that he was glad he hadn't done either of these things. He wasn't sure what to do now. So he just said, "I'm glad I met you, John Watson."

John looked up at met his gaze. "I'm glad I met you, too, Sherlock Holmes." His full name had sounded natural and sophisticated out of Sherlock's mouth, but John felt silly saying the whole thing like that. "Maybe just Sherlock, I think. Or will you prefer Mr Holmes?" John teased lightly.  

"Sherlock is good," he said, smiling. "Do you want to come spend time with me tomorrow? Should I arrange it?"  
  
"Yeah," John nodded. "I would like that. But. . .maybe not during meal times? I'm just worried that they are going to think I'm sucking up to you to get out of working. I know that's weird. Sorry." 

"All right. I don't want to make anything uncomfortable for you," Sherlock said. "What about tomorrow morning, after breakfast?"

"Perfect," John smiled. He glanced at their still clasped hands and then at the paper in front of him. For the hell of it he wrote down a ten, tracing the lines of that number over and over because suddenly he felt silly and maybe if he never stopped tracing the lines he could pretend it hadn't happened. 

Sherlock reached over and touched John's wrist. He moved his own so John could see Sherlock's watch and then he said, "We should go. I don't want you to get any grief from anyone. But I'll speak to Leonore and it will all work out, okay?" 

John bit his lip at the touch and stopped drawing, looking up to meet his eyes again. "Okay," he agreed. "I'm going to trust you. Don't make me regret it," he teased.  

"And I'm trusting you," Sherlock said. "I don't want to regret it, either."

John shook his head. "You won't," he promised. He hoped so, anyways. "Shall we head back, then?"

Sherlock packed the tea stuff into his bag and after they walked out, he locked up the building. He lit a cigarette and they walked back to the house. Before they went in, he said "Thank you" softly and then went through the door and went straight up to his room.

"What's all that about?"

John turned and saw the girl from the garden leaning against the door frame. "He needed help with his experiments and I was sent," he shrugged. 

"Sent?" she asked, pushing off of the frame and narrowing her eyes a bit. John was starting to feel defensive until she scoffed and rolled her eyes. "They're all the same -- you were hired for the kitchen and now he thinks you're his personal servant."

"No, it's nothing like --" He cut off as Leonore popped her head out and called him back into the kitchen. John looked back and saw the girl from the garden was already walking away. John furrowed his brows as he watched her go, trying to figure out what she was doing -- she was so odd. He shook his head and went to the kitchen where everyone was bustling around again. 

"That fool Joe ran off and never cleaned the pitchers after lunch. Get to it and then get them filled for dinner. Go on. This isn't break time," Leonore said. 

Something about the way she said it made him want to argue, to remind her that he had been requested for different work, but he couldn't bring himself to do it because it was so nice being with Sherlock and if he lost his job, he'd never see him. He went to the sink and started washing out the pitchers, his mind drifting to the lab and to Sherlock. He wondered if they would talk at dinner and wished they had covered that beforehand so he wouldn't say something stupid.

After sitting for a while on his bed thinking about what had happened, Sherlock stood up and went to find his mother. "Listen, that kid from the kitchen, John Watson -- he was really helpful today. I'm working on an experiment and he was really helpful so I'd like you to have Leonore excuse him after breakfast for the rest of the week."

"Sherlock, don't be stupid," she said. "Get one of your friends to do it -- not the help."

Sherlock didn't say anything -- she knew very well that he had no friends, was she really trying to make him say it aloud? He looked at her. Already she had gone back to whatever she'd been working on; it was like she was oblivious to his still standing there.

"Well, this is embarrassing," Sherlock said. "But he's also . . . helping me with romantic advice. He was there at the party and he offered some advice . . . you know Dad and Mycroft haven't been that helpful in this department. I've never really had anyone to talk to about this stuff. Just let him work with me for the next week -- didn't you say something about a gallery opening next week? I think maybe my confidence will be better by then. Will you just talk to Leonore, please?" This really was humiliating, but something was compelling him to do it.

"Fine," his mother said. "Fine."

Sherlock returned to his room and lay down on his bed until dinner.

After washing several plates as well to help catch everyone up, John had a few minutes to simply stand around and think. He wondered how quickly he could get out after breakfast tomorrow and if anyone was going to say anything to him about it. That girl from the garden already did -- he should really start asking people for their names -- but what did she know about it anyways? Sherlock said everything would be fine so he trusted that. When dinner started he wheeled the tray out eagerly and filled his first round, his eyes always moving to Sherlock.   

Sherlock was watching his mother and father, wondering if she had spoken to Leonore and whether or not she had told his father about what Sherlock had said. Or if she'd told Mycroft. But he didn't want to say anything directly, especially when John was in the room 

Mycroft didn't come in and eventually the food was served.

"Where's Mycroft?" he asked.

"Something came up at work apparently," his mother said.

Sherlock didn't say anything else and just fiddled with the food on his plate. He didn't look up at John -- for some reason, he felt embarrassed that John was seeing him like this. The rest of the meal was spent in silence.

Finally, Sherlock pushed his plate to the side and said, "I'll head upstairs now." He got up and as he walked by his mum, she said, "Your request has been sorted" under her breath. Sherlock went to his room.

John's stomach fell and he had a heavy feeling in his chest. Sherlock hadn't even glanced up, hadn't touched his water, anything. Had it really just been a work thing? No. . .Sherlock had requested him specifically, was making plans for meeting him, had touched his hand first! But then what was this cold display about? Maybe no one could know that they were just hanging out -- he did say he didn't want to make things bad for John. John calmed down a bit and decided they would talk about it tomorrow. He reminded himself not to over think it all and stress himself out. After dinner he helped clean up, emptied the water in the flowers again and left everything to the washers, going to his room. He wasn't tired yet and wished he could roam around, but this wasn't his house. He reluctantly climbed into bed and let his mind wander. 

The thought of coming to work here -- especially kitchen duty -- had not been very promising. But now. . .his mind played visions of all the different things they could do around the grounds. The lab alone had been interesting enough and they could be alone there. John flushed at the thought but couldn't help grinning. But that's the road his mind was taking now -- holding hands in the garden or kissing in the lab. Then he got more bold and imagined sneaking into Sherlock's room or Sherlock coming down to meet him. He turned onto his side and closed his eyes. He fell asleep thinking about those things and they melted into dreams as he fell asleep. But then they took a bad turn and he dreamed of Leonore finding out that all they were doing was making out. His parents not only fired John but paid the whole town so they wouldn't hire him for anything again. 


	3. Sherlock Changes

When John woke up again he heard himself mumble a small no before realising he was awake and that the things in his dreams hadn't really happened. He got some new clothes and went to take a shower to clear his head. Maybe it was a good thing Sherlock had ignored him at the table. He dressed in his usual uniform and talked himself into playing it cool, mentally rehearsing how to go about his job without making it obvious that anything was going on between them. He filled the pitchers with juice and water again, helped set the table, and then stood in his usual spot, keeping his eyes determinedly away from Sherlock's seat.

Back upstairs, Sherlock felt . . . well, he wasn't sure what he felt except that it seemed complicated and, if he was honest, avoiding complications was one of the reasons he had tried to avoid feelings. Most of his life he had mainly felt bored or annoyed. Those weren't complicated. They weren't particularly pleasant, but they weren't complicated feelings and that's what made them so attractive.

But now Sherlock felt a mix of excitement and embarrassment and confusion and anxiety and, well, he was pretty sure there might be some lust mixed in as well. Just because he hadn't had that much experience with it didn't mean he couldn't recognise the urge he felt in his lab -- he had wanted to lean in and kiss John, press him flat against the table and lie on top of him and kiss him. It wasn't a bad feeling on its own, but it came accompanied with doubt and anxiety and those were very bad feelings indeed. It had dawned on Sherlock during dinner that perhaps everything that happened earlier had only happened because John worked for his family, worked for him. Sherlock knew John didn't want to lose this job, is that why John had gone along with it? And worst of all was the fact that part of Sherlock didn't care. He enjoyed being around John, he enjoyed feeling desire, and he wanted those things again, even if he had to pay to get them.

And that realisation naturally came with quite a bit of shame and embarrassment. Sherlock knew he was smart, he didn't think he was particularly ugly and obviously everyone knew he came from wealth and power. Yet no one had ever sparked his interest and he worried that was because he had let his life get so out of control. His mother had been right -- his stroppy adolescence had lasted too long. Sherlock wanted to meet clever, interesting people but those were the very people who would find his life choices ridiculous and not want to be around him at all. To the world he probably seemed as big of a spoiled brat as Mycroft. The only people who'd want to be with him would be other spoiled brats -- the very people Sherlock despised. Or someone like John, who was clearly clever and focused and ambitious, but who ultimately must only find Sherlock interesting because he's being paid to do so.

That was a depressing thought, and Sherlock rolled over in bed and squeezed his eyes shut to make it go away. But John's face with still there in his mind. The way John smiled, the way he crinkled his nose, the way he reached over and held Sherlock's hand -- Sherlock couldn't get any of those things out of his head and before he could stop himself, he was imagining kissing John. He was imagining John kissing him. And when he'd fallen asleep, that's what he dreamt of.

When he woke up again, he had an erection and he sneaked himself into the shower and for the first time in a long time, he masturbated. The sound of the shower felt protective so he leaned one hand on the wall and with the other, he stroked himself. He thought of John, of being in the lab with him, of the fact that when they were there it had felt like it was just John and Sherlock and no one else in the world mattered. Sherlock's family didn't matter to either of them, it was just the two of them, two normal people, two friends and Sherlock imagined them kissing and rubbing against each other and he came and it felt good. Then he finished his shower and got dressed but couldn't look at himself in the mirror. He went down to the dining room and joined his parents and brother.

"You've decided to get dressed before noon," Mycroft said. "Is today a special day? I didn't see anything marked on the calendar."

"I'm working on a project," Sherlock said, not looking at anyone.

"Do we always have to have fighting in the morning?" Mrs Holmes said, not looking at anyone either.

"No," Sherlock said, "we don't." He focused on eating his breakfast even though he didn't feel very hungry. He didn't look at John -- he was worried if he did, John would know every thought he'd had in his head in the last twelve hours and he was too afraid of that. There was a part of Sherlock that never wanted to see John anywhere except in the lab -- he was too embarrassed about their differences and it was hard enough knowing that John could see him like this, he didn't want to look over and recognise John's judgement of Sherlock. In the lab, he felt safe. Here, he just felt exposed.

He ate as fast as he could, went up to his room and packed his bag and then made his way out to his lab to wait for John's arrival.

John wasn't so good at ignoring Sherlock, and despite his many attempts his eyes continued to flick over to him several times. When breakfast was over Leonore stopped him from washing up his pitchers. "You're been requested by young Mr Holmes. You're to help him with his experiments this week after breakfast."

"Oh," John said, trying to sound like this was the first he was hearing of this. He saw several people look over at him as if -- like they were annoyed. Why was this new kid getting out of work when they, who have been here so long, weren't being requested for other jobs? "Um. . .all right," he said, leaving the kitchen. Halfway across the yard he was stopped by that girl again. 

"Off again?" she asked, stepping in front of him so he couldn't keep walking. 

"I'm not off. I'm just working with Sherlock -- experiments," he said. 

"Oh, it's Sherlock now?" she asked, raising her eyes. John forgot about referring to anyone in the family by their last name only.

He shrugged. "That's what he told me to call him," John said. 

She rolled her eyes. "Do you think you guys are friends or something?" John's jaw tightened but he didn't answer. "They don't have friends. They have employees -- people they control. And he's so lonely that he's hanging out with you -- paying you to be his friend."

John's brow creased as his anger flared. "Why do you care anyways? So I hold some beakers for him for a couple hours -- why does it matter?"

"I just don't want you to get the wrong idea. He doesn't care about you -- if you got fired tomorrow, he would just get someone else. Don't ever forget that you're replaceable." Something on her face made John think that she had personal experience in this matter, but at the same time he knew that experience wasn't with Sherlock. He only knew the boy for a couple days but he doubted Sherlock would be so cruel. Of course the being ignored at meals was troubling but surely there was a better reason than that. 

"Look, thanks for your concern but I'll be fine. I have to go," he said. He stepped around her and continued to the lab. When he glanced back she was still watching him and he looked forward again. At the lab he didn't bother knocking, opening the door and leaning against it when he was inside. "Sherlock?"   

Sherlock smiled the minute he saw John's face in the lab and then felt his cheeks flush when he imagined that John would be able to tell that he'd been wanking earlier. Sherlock wished he really did have someone to give him advice -- how was he supposed to act around John? He knew he should appear relaxed and confident, but all he could think about was how to get John to want to kiss him.

"I've just put the kettle on for us," he said. "Sit down."  
  
Sherlock made the tea in silence and then brought the mugs to the table. "You must get off on having me serve you, eh?" he said and then regretted it. He meant it like a joke, like a bit of light conversation, but he wasn't sure that's how it had come out.

John couldn't help laughing, shaking his head. "Obviously," he joked. "Take me now!" John slumped back against the table and opened his arms. Then he sat up quickly and looked up at him, a bit more seriously. He was nervous but he knew if he didn't ask he would continue being confused and he just wanted to know exactly where they stood. "Hey. . .can we talk about what happened at the meals?"  

"Yes," Sherlock said softly. "I'd just like to start, though, by confessing that I only know how to act appropriately when I am bored and annoyed. I don't know how to act when I feel anything else. This is not a legitimate excuse obviously, as I am a grown man, and should know these things . . . but I'm just trying to be honest. Which I also recognise may or may not be the appropriate way to act at this moment. I really do not know how to behave . . . "

"You don't have to 'behave' any way with me," John assured him. "Just. . .be you. Whatever that is, okay? I just wanted to ask. . .I mean. . .is this a secret? The fact that people think I'm working and you're busy and really we're just. . .talking and holding hands?" He flushed and looked down at his own hands now. "I understand, of course, but I just want us to be on the same page."

"You said you didn't want people to get annoyed with you so I thought it'd be better not to act differently towards you around them. Plus, I'm . . . . embarrassed when I see you when my family is around," Sherlock said looking down at the table.

John looked up at him again and, hesitating just a second, reached out to touch the top of his hand. "Why?" he asked quietly.

"Let's face it, John, my family . . . I'm sure the staff hate us which I guess is to be expected, but my family aren't even normal snobs. We're all freaks. Everyone treats me like a child and what's worse is that I act like one. You're so normal -- you're everything someone our age should be -- you're responsible and ambitious and everything and I'm a child who has to pay someone he likes to spend time with him. It's embarrassing and when I'm in the dining room and you're standing there watching it all play out, it's humiliating," Sherlock said. He hadn't censored anything and there was a part of his brain that was sure he should regret being so open. However, there was another part of his brain that could do nothing but focus on the feel of John's hand touching his.

John grabbed his hand properly. "You're not a freak," he said quietly. "I don't think anyone hates your family, Sherlock. They just. . .that's how they're used to living and they can live like that so they do. And honestly. . ." He didn't mention his worry that this was about about being paid to hang out with him. "I'd hang out with you if I didn't work here and we met in the town. I like you, too."

"But you do work here and I'm worried that that means it'll be difficult for you . . . and maybe for us. In this situation, we aren't equal -- I'm kind of your boss. But we're also not equal because . . . you know how to behave and I don't . . . I want to do impulsive, childish things and I'm worried that you'll have all the responsibility but none of the control . . ."

"We'll just have to be sneaky. I mean. . .you don't boss me around here and I can do stupid things with you here and when we are at the house we'll just. . .behave," John said. "As long as I turn up for meals it should be okay, right?"

"I hope so," Sherlock said. "But please, just tell me if anything goes wrong -- the uncomfortable truth is . . . I do have power, I could have someone fired really if I wanted to, so even though I don't want to do anything like that, please tell me if our friendship is causing you any problem . . . I don't want it to. I want you to like being with me." His voice trailed off because he was so unused to making vulnerable admissions yet seemed unable to stop himself from doing so.

"I do like being with you, and honestly, if it came down to hanging out with you or keeping my job, I'd pick you." The voice in his head raised its brows at him because that was quite something to say to someone you just met. Especially because he needed this job to save for school.

Sherlock smiled. Not a sarcastic one, an honest one. He never thought that he'd meet a person that made him feel so good and certainly hadn't expected to meet that person in his own kitchen. But it appeared he had. John Watson was the person he needed.

Sherlock looked down at their hands and said, "Is this why you don't have a girlfriend? Because you like . . . this instead?"

John nodded, looking down at their hands as well. "I haven't had any interest in girls for a while and I was starting to suspect. . .well, then I saw you and I knew." He felt his cheeks flush at those words because they were so very. . .cheesy. He opened his mouth to apologise or change then somehow, but he closed it again because, silly as it sounded, it was true.

"I guess I've just not really thought about it either way -- I presumed it was just all people I didn't like," Sherlock said. "And then we talked outside . . . just that stupid little conversation and then I just thought about you when I was going to sleep . . . and I just wanted to spend time with you."

John looked back up to Sherlock's face and smiled, warmth spreading through his whole body. "Me too," he said quietly. "Well. . .I saw you at dinner and you were the only one that said thank you and then when we spoke outside. . ." He trailed off and shrugged. "Me too," he repeated lamely.

Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John softly. He pulled his head back and his hand away and said, "I'm sorry . . . I don't know if I should have done that."

John was too stunned to keep a hold of his hand but came back to his senses the moment he realised it was gone. He nodded, reaching for his hand again. "Yes, you should have," he murmured. "I probably should, too. . ." And with that he leaned forward and kissed Sherlock softly back. When he pulled away he forced himself to keep his eyes on Sherlock, a bit more nervous than before.

"John," Sherlock said and then he moved towards him again and kissed him harder. He put his arms around John and pulled them both up so they were standing. He just kept kissing John.

John hummed in surprise but, rather than pull away, used the fact that he was on his feet to step closer to Sherlock, bringing both hands to his neck. Heat flooded into his stomach and everything -- even the lab this time -- disappeared. The only thing that he knew now was Sherlock and the lovely taste of his mouth.

Sherlock stopped thinking -- he didn't think about the fact that John worked for his family or the fact that he had never done anything like this before -- he stopped thinking and he kissed John's mouth, letting his fingers slide into John's hair as he tilted their heads. He let his tongue slip in to meet John's. 

John moaned softly and felt his cheeks flush at the sound. One hand slid to the back of Sherlock's neck where he fingered at the curls, the other sliding down to grip his shirt tightly. He brought his tongue forward to meet Sherlock's, moaning softly again.

Eventually Sherlock felt like he needed to breathe and he pulled his head back a bit. "John . . . I - I never . . . I don't know why I feel this way." He dropped his hands and sat back down. "I'm sorry -- I wasn't lying about not having experience with this. I just want . . ."

John took a deep breath and sat down as well. "It's okay, Sherlock. I don't either. . .I mean, not with another boy. But we'll. . .take it slow, yeah? I want it all, too. . .it's okay. . ."

Sherlock reached over for John's hand again -- he just wanted to touch him again. "All right," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry for being weird -- I'll try to relax." He smiled.

John held his hand and smiled. "Don't be sorry. Honestly, it's fine," he said.

"What do we do now?" Sherlock said. "I mean, you don't have to stay if you don't want to, but we still have time left and I've brought you to this incredibly romantic setting . . ." he smiled awkwardly and waved his hands a bit. "What should we do now?"

John shrugged. "Want to keep snogging? That was fun," he smiled. He let go of Sherlock's hand to smooth out his shirt where his fist had wrinkled it.

"I do," Sherlock said, "I feel really . . . horny." He laughed aloud -- it's not that he hadn't felt urges before but he honestly had never imagined saying that sentence aloud to anyone in his life. "It's all your fault. I used to be normal until I met you and now I can't stop thinking of you in that way." He pushed John's arm lightly.

"Can't stop, huh? Would this be the dream you were talking about?" John grinned, not denying the fact that he felt exactly the same way and even thought about it completely conscious before bed.

"Well, I can't remember the details but I . . . had a hard-on when I woke up," Sherlock said smiling. "Sorry, but it's true. I can't believe I just told you that."

"Do you have one now?" John asked, marveling at how comfortable he was talking about that. "I do. . .just a bit," he admitted.

"Kind of . . . I'm pretty sure if we keep talking and definitely if we keep snogging, I will get one. Is that okay?" Sherlock said.

John nodded. "How much more time do we have?" His voice was getting quieter, more shy as he approached the question he really wanted to ask. If they could get close again. . .just touch together. . .. He bit his lip lightly as he waited.

"Well, technically, we have as long as we want because I'm Leonore's boss, don't forget," Sherlock said, grinning. "But basically if you want to get back in time to work lunch, we've got almost an hour."

"We could. . .I mean. . ." He took a deep breath and looked at his hands. "We could keep snogging and . . ." He hoped Sherlock knew what he was referring to. "Just rubbing. . ." he mumbled. He couldn't believe he was asking Sherlock to grind him to an orgasm. He bit his lip and looked up.

"Come on," Sherlock said, standing up. He walked to the back of the building and grabbed a blanket off one of the shelves. He spread it out on the floor. "It's not really very romantic," he said, "and it's entirely stupid seeing as there are a million rooms in that house we could go into and no one would know we're there. But . . . " He lay down on the blanket.

John licked his lips lightly and moved onto the blanket, dropping on his knees first. "I like the lab because it's just yours," he admitted. He lay down next to Sherlock and turned to face him. "The house doesn't really exist here. . ."

"I wish it could always be like this," Sherlock said. He lifted his hands to John's face and ran his fingers through his hair. He kissed John's mouth softly at first and then harder again. He could feel a warmth in his belly and he felt himself getting hard. He raised himself up a little to lean over John and he kissed him again.

John brought his hands up to Sherlock's shoulder and waist, sliding down and slipping his hand into Sherlock's shirt. His skin was soft and warm. He splayed his fingers across his skin, moaning and pulling him closer.

Sherlock gripping John's hip and moved a little closer, putting more of his weight onto John. "John Watson," he said softly in between kisses, "you are very sexy to me." He kissed John's cheek and then sucked on his earlobe.

John flushed and pushed up against him. His name sounded wonderful in Sherlock's mouth. "You're sexier," he breathed, pushing up again.

"That's a lie," Sherlock said into John's ear. "I told you I can tell when people lie." He pressed his hips against John's. "You feel so good. Is this okay?"

John nodded and thrust up harder, wanting more. "Not lying. . .you're gorgeous. . ." he murmured. "This feels good, Sherlock. So good. . ." He thrust up again and properly felt his cock press into Sherlock's thigh. He found his mouth for another hard kiss as he moaned loudly.

It felt like Sherlock's whole body was going to explode. He kissed John's mouth hard and started more of a rhythm with his hips, rubbing his cock against John and feeling John's own cock against his thigh. He didn't think about anything now except this -- this feeling was all that mattered.

John gripped at his back, fingers digging into his skin as John moved to match his rhythm. He felt so hot, like every fiber of his being was bursting into flames. "M'close. . ." he mumbled against Sherlock's lips, wishing he could last a bit longer. He pecked kisses there, his breathing fast and heavy now.

"I don't want to stop, John, I can't --" Sherlock's hips were now moving on their own and he dropped his mouth to John's neck and sucked on the skin. He squeezed shut his eyes and remembered this morning in the shower and how this was exactly what he'd wanted and all of a sudden, he was coming and pressing hard against John, gripping, almost pulling his hair.

John threw his head back and whimpered his name, thrusting up wildly as he came as well. Small moans forced their way through his throat as the waves coursed through him. When it was over he slumped onto the ground, his hand still inside Sherlock's shirt, his breath coming in soft gasps. "Sherlock. . ." he said, just to say it.

Sherlock's chest heaved against John's and he lifted his head up to look at John's face. "Oh my god, John," he said, his mouth moving into a smile. "I kind of can't believe we just did that."

John chuckled underneath him. "I know. . .I'm trying to sort of. . .process it all. . ." he admitted.

"I don't want you to regret it. I want this to be okay. I want us to proper friends who like each other for who we are and . . . I want you to want to do this again," Sherlock said stupidly.

John pressed a kiss to his temple and nodded. "I don't regret it, Sherlock. I want to do it again, too. Maybe even. . .proper, one day?" He found Sherlock's hands and held both of them.

"Cheeky," Sherlock said, smiling. "Let's just lie here for a few minutes. I wish we didn't have to go back." He snuggled into John.

"I'm serious," John said defensively. "And I don't want to go back either. This is so much nicer. . ." His thumbs stroked Sherlock's hands softly.

"I'm serious, too, John," Sherlock said, "I've got to get myself together. I'm not a twelve-year-old. I have to grow up, I want to be a grown up . . . like you. I don't want you to feel sorry for me when my stupid life is my own stupid fault."

"Sherlock. . .I don't feel sorry for you, okay? Being a grown up is overrated anyways," John said quietly.  

"Well, I still wish things were different. I wish I could take you out on a date, I wish we could get to know each other and you could come over to mine and I could cook you dinner. That's what I wish and if I hadn't wasted so much time acting like a child, we could be doing that instead of sneaking in here to snog like kids," he said, "I'm sorry -- I don't know what's come over me." He looked down at John's face. "Well . . . I do know what's come over me, don't I?" He started laughing.

John rolled his eyes and laughed with him for a moment before taking a deep breath. "I wish we could do all of those things too, Sherlock. But. . .this is how we met so we have to make the best of it. One day I will save enough money for school and you are going to move out of your home and then we can get a flat, and you will cook me dinner and we'll snog in every room just because we can."

"All right," Sherlock said, smiling, "that's what we'll do." He leaned down and gave John a quick kiss. "It's going to be difficult to act normally around you in the dining room. I'll be thinking of this the whole time." He swallowed and then said, "Look, what do you do after you're done with work? I mean, we don't 'own' you -- when the clean up or whatever is over, do you just go to bed or does the staff do social stuff or something?"

"Some of the men play cards and the women make tea and gossip," John said, shrugging his shoulders. "I usually just go to bed because there's nothing else to do. I get two days a week off and every other weekend."

"Couldn't you go out for a walk or something and maybe we could see each other?"

"Yes," John nodded. "Outside mostly, and if I were sneaky then through the house as well," he said. 

"Will you come to my room tonight?" Sherlock said, sitting up excitedly. "Look, you won't get in trouble or anything, I promise, if anything awkward happens, I'll say it was all my doing. I just don't want to make it stressful with the other people, but god, John, I really want to see you tonight."

John gazed up and his and couldn't help smiling -- Sherlock's excitement was highly contagious. "Yeah," he nodded. "After we clean up at dinner I'll say I'm going to bed and just come up to your room. I just have to be back for breakfast and no one will know," he said.  

"Now you're inviting yourself to stay all night? John Watson, you little harlot!" He pinched John's arm and laughed. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth. "Please come to my room tonight, please," he said, kissing all over John's face.

John wrinkled his nose and tried to move his head away from the attack. "I already said I will! But if you call me names I'll rethink it!"

"All right, all right," Sherlock said. He sat up a little bit. "I'm just teasing you. I'm certainly not complaining about your willingness. I would really like to spend the whole night kissing you."

"I just figure sneaking there will be hard enough, I won't risk sneaking back. In fact. . .how will I get back when everyone is up?"

"Mess your bed up before you leave and bring a change of clothes. We'll get up early and I can get you out of the house unnoticed and then you can walk in through the staff entrance and if anyone sees you, you can say you woke up early and went out for a walk. What do you think?"

"Okay," John agreed. "If all else fails you woke me up early to go picking for ingredients for an experiment, yeah?"

"Maybe we should save that one for the tomorrow night," Sherlock said cheekily.

"You're confident," John teased, propping himself up on his elbows. 

"John, I don't know what the hell is going on with me, you have got me quite . . . discombobulated. And I mean that in a very romantic way," Sherlock said, smiling as he stood up. He wiggled awkwardly for a minute. "Discombobulated and a little bit sticky."

"Tell me about it," John said, standing up with him. "I'll change my clothes before lunch but I won't be able to shower until before I come see you. I'll be walking around the dining room all sticky," he said, smiling lightly. "Thinking about you."

"Just try to look normal or I won't be able to handle it," Sherlock said, fussing a bit with John's hair.

"Are you going to clear the table dramatically and take me right next to the salad bowls?" John asked, smiling wide at him. It was amazing how completely comfortable he felt with Sherlock.

"Possibly," Sherlock said, "but not until my parents and Mycroft have left the room. I'm not a complete pervert, you know." He moved to pack up the tea stuff into his bag.

John laughed softly and picked up the blanket, shaking it clean before folding it and setting it on one of the stools. "I suppose I can wait until then," John said, sighing dramatically. 

Before they left, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and said, "Look, I know this is all kind of weird, but I really like you. And not just for that stuff. There's something about you that's different to me and I just want us to be friends and if we can also do stuff like that, all the better." He smiled. 

John smiled. "I am going to remember this, and the things you're saying, so that when we have to act like we hardly know each other in there I won't get sad. And you should remember that I like you a lot too, not just for that." 

"Thank you," Sherlock said, "I've never really felt like someone's liked me for anything other than . . . well, not _that_ obviously . . . but for what they think I am rather than what I really am." He gave John a quick kiss and they headed out. Sherlock went in through a door in the back of the house and John went through the staff entrance.

Sherlock bumped into his mother on the way up to his room. "Everything going well then with your 'experiment'?" she asked.

Sherlock said, "Yes, it's good. Thanks for getting John to help."  
  
"You know I don't really care what you do with your time and energy, Sherlock," she said, "but I hope you are making wise choices in how you spend them." Then she headed off downstairs.

"Hurry up with the pitchers. You took your time," Leonore said, pushing the cart towards him. 

"I wasn't skiving -- Mr Holmes had requested my help," John said defensively.

"Doing what? That boy just. . .sits in his room all day blowing things up."

John opened his mouth to argue but took a deep breath instead. "Yeah, well, I get to hold the chemicals," he said. She looked over at him and waved him away. John went to fill the pitchers, changed his clothes and went out into the dining room. 

Sherlock sat in his room. He presumed his mum's comment meant she thought that spending time with John was not a wise use of Sherlock's time and energy. But what was -- being fake at parties? He made a list of the things he was interested in and then spent some time online investigating his options. He needed to figure out how to get out of here, but he wanted to be able to help John get out, too.

When he went down for the evening meal, he glanced at John and couldn't help smiling so he quickly looked away. Once the food was served, he said, "Perhaps I should consider going to university."

"Why don't you let Mycroft get you a job with him?" their mother said. "Couldn't you do that, Mycroft?"  
  
Mycroft pulled a face at Sherlock and said, "Probably."  
  
"I don't want a job with Mycroft," Sherlock said, "I want to do what I'm interested in."  
  
"And what's that?" Mycroft said. "Orange juice? Or the boys who serve it?"

Sherlock ignored his brother. "Chemistry, I think I'd like to study chemistry."

John flushed at Mycroft's comment and stared down, missing the fact that their father wanted water, making him cough for John's attention. He moved quickly and filled the glass. He listened as Sherlock's mum tried to convince him to work with Mycroft, calling his experiments silly. John chanced a glance at him and went back to his post.

"A few years ago, you really wanted me to go to university because a qualification is useful -- are you saying that's not true now? If you think I can't do it -- if you think I can't do anything without Mycroft -- that's fine. Give me one year to try and if I don't make it . . . I'll go to work with him," Sherlock said. He knew John was listening and he wished he could get his opinion on this idea, but he knew he'd have to wait until later.

John almost laughed when Sherlock said 'if he couldn't do it' but it was clear he wasn't joking. Didn't his family realise how clever he was? He had his own lab for crying out loud. His mother called John over for water as she told Sherlock she didn't want to talk about it just then. Mycroft called John next and he fixed his eyes on John, staring up at him. John refused to meet his gaze, watching the water level rise and then stepping right back his post. This was behind Mycroft so he chanced a quick glance to Sherlock.

Sherlock met John's glance for just a second but he didn't want to give anything away to Mycroft -- not for his own sake, but for John's. Sherlock knew how to deal with Mycroft but there's no reason John should have to.

"It doesn't matter -- it wouldn't be until autumn, but I just wanted to let you know what I was thinking," Sherlock said. He pushed the food around his plate.

A small part of John hated the idea of Sherlock going away, especially if he was still working here. But on the other hand he knew the experiments made Sherlock happy and he wanted Sherlock to have that.

The rest of dinner was relatively quiet. When Sherlock finished, he left to go upstairs, trying to catch John's eyes subtly before he left. He hoped everything would work all right and that John would be able to come up and spend some time with him. He hadn't really ever felt a need for someone's company, but need is precisely how he felt about John.

John only had to move two more times but, as he was pouring for Mycroft again when Sherlock left, he didn't look up. He was getting nervous and excited about meeting Sherlock, trying to plan the route in his head even though he'd only been there twice. Back in the kitchen he got to work quick, emptying and washing the pitchers without being told.

"What's your rush?" Leonore asked.

"Just tired," John lied, finishing up. He looked around and saw that everything else was being handled.

"What's he make you do?" she asked suddenly, pulling him back.

"I told you, I hold chemicals, fetch ingredients, take notes for him. . .things like that," John said.

"Why you?" someone asked from the back by the sinks.

"I don't know. I just go where they tell me to go." John slowly pulled away and wondered if they had enough power to demand him in the kitchen, to offer themselves in his place. He pushed that thought away and knew Sherlock wouldn't allow that, but what if they demanded to know why? In his room he changed into normal clothes, taking his time to pick something nice, like he was going on a date. Well, it sort of was.


	4. A Sort Of Date

John waited a long time to make sure everyone was asleep or at least in bed. It was after ten when he finally risked it, getting out of bed and creeping very quickly through the house. Every sound made his heart stop and excuses run through his head. Finally he was at Sherlock's door and was stunned to find it locked. Too scared to knock and make noise, he jiggled the handle and hoped Sherlock was paying attention.

Sherlock's phone made a noise at almost the same time he heard the doorknob move. He jumped up to get the door first, opening it quietly and pulling John in.

"I'm sorry -- I didn't realise it was locked," he said. He motioned for John to sit down. Sherlock picked up his phone and saw a text from Mycroft.

_Orange juice delivered to your room? Too much of anything is rarely a good idea, dear brother. MH_

So that's how the door got locked, Sherlock thought. Mycroft had stopped in to see him earlier and must have locked it as he left. So Mycroft knew about John. Sherlock was not quite sure what that meant, but it probably wasn't good.

"Sorry," he said apologising for looking at the text. "Do you still feel okay about all this?"

John nodded, glancing at the phone. He'd moved as quietly as he could but. . .had he been seen? He did have a bit of tunnel vision with his nerves -- maybe he'd missed someone. "Do you still feel okay about it?"

"Yes, I do, I want to spend time with you," Sherlock said. "That's what is important to me right now. I feel like I've met you for a reason. It feels like you can help me . . . I mean, the thing about going to university -- I've not decided, I'm just looking into it, but I guess I was just thinking about what you said -- we could go together." All of a sudden Sherlock felt a bit stupid -- they'd only met and now he was planning his life around a comment John had casually said? "I mean, I'm not trying to pressure you . . . I guess I'm just saying you've inspired me to finally get sorted."

John smiled and moved closer to him. "I'm glad that I have had such a nice effect on you," he said. "But that's. . .I mean, you'll be able to go to much better schools than I could. I don't want you to go somewhere that will diminish your talents just because of me. I don't even know if I'll be able to this autumn. . ."

"We can figure out the details later, but don't sell yourself short. We can look into the best schools for medicine and for chemistry -- Cambridge looks good for both. I know you probably won't let me help with money, but if you save up what you earn here, I can afford to pay for the things that we share. We have time to figure things out . . . I mean, as you get to know me better, you might get sick of me anyway. I just feel . . . different about things now and it's down to you." He reached out and touched John's hand. "So thanks for that."

John smiled and felt his whole body warm at the things he was saying. "Okay. Let's just worry about all of that later. That's all heavy talk for so late at night," he said.

"Fine," Sherlock said, pulling his legs up onto the bed to sit crosslegged on the bed. "Okay, come over here. Let's play Truth or Dare. I'll go first. I pick truth -- now you ask me a question and I've got to answer truthfully."

"I know how it works," John said with mock defense, climbing up with him and sitting cross legged as well. "Um. . .what we did in the lab -- have you done that before?"

Sherlock looked down at the floor. "Twice . . . when I was at school. It was a long time ago, though, so I hope it was all right."

"Don't feel bad," John said. "I thought it was more than all right."

"Your turn," Sherlock said, feeling his cheeks redden. "Truth or dare?"

John thought for a moment before picking truth as well. He liked talking with Sherlock.

"Am I the first boy you've kissed?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," John nodded. "Truth or dare?"

"Fine, I'll go with dare. Someone has to at some point," Sherlock said, smiling nervously.

John was thrown off and had no idea what to ask. "Um. . ." He thought for a long time and then flushed, looking down at his knees. "I dare you to take your trousers off," he murmured.

"That's not that much of a dare," Sherlock said. "I wasn't planning on sleeping in my trousers anyway." He stood up off the bed and took off his belt before sliding off his trousers, folding them and setting them on the chair. He sat back down on the bed. "Actually, I'm going to take this off as well," he said, unbuttoning his shirt. He got back up, set his shirt on the chair and grabbed a t-shirt and put that on. "It seems weird to be in my boxers but have a dress shirt on. There you go, you've got me practically nude now. Is that what your end goal was?" he said, smiling.

"You are not completely nude," John rolled his eyes. "I pick truth again," he added.

"All right, let me think," Sherlock said. "Have you ever committed a crime?"

"Um. . .half of one," John said sheepishly. "I stole a pack of pens once because I forgot my wallet and they wrote so nicely. But then I felt really guilty so the next day I went back and snuck money on the counter." He bit his lip and grinned. "Does that count?"

"No, I'm afraid that does not count as a crime, John," Sherlock said, grinning. "I have, however, lost all respect for you for such impulsive behaviour." He pulled on the blankets a little, covering his bare legs. "Truth."

John kicked his leg lightly and pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. "Hmm. . .what's that last trick you played on your brother?"

"I set up an online dating profile for him. He was getting tons of emails from women all over the world wanting to marry him," Sherlock said. "I thought it was hilarious. He didn't."

John grinned. "I'm actually surprised he isn't married yet -- some business deal to enhance his power," he admitted. 

"He'll never marry. He doesn't like women anymore than he likes men and he'd never enter into any kind of partnership," Sherlock said. "Your turn."

"I think I will do dare this time," John said. 

"Um . . . I dare you to take all your clothes off," Sherlock said. "I'll take the rest of mine off if you want, to be fair. We could get under the covers since it's chilly."

"All of. . ." John looked down at himself and then back up. He just had to say dare. . .was he ready for something like that? It had been his idea to stay the whole night, and he should have expected this. He supposed it would have happened in the heat of the moment and not just outright like this. But Sherlock was different -- John had felt so comfortable around him and honestly still did. He was more stunned by the request than Sherlock actually seeing him naked. He stood up and pulled his shirt off, then grabbed both his pants and trousers and tugged them down. He pulled his shoes and socks off while he was still bent over and, when he got back on the bed, he got under the covers. "Your turn," he said, his face lightly flushed. 

Sherlock couldn't believe that John had done it, but he pulled his shirt over his head and then slid his boxers off. He hurriedly got under the covers as well.

"Well, this is strange," he said, kind of laughing. "I can't believe I suggested it and I can't believe you did it. There's something about you, John Watson, I swear I almost feel drunk and stupid around you . . . but in a good way, I mean. Relaxed. It's weird. But good. I don't know what I'm saying." 

John felt a bit foolish at his words, as if it had been a joke he was silly enough to believe. "Well. . .I feel comfortable around you and you dared me!" he protested. He pulled the covers over his head as well, grinning stupidly. He breathed in deeply and loved that everything smelled like Sherlock. He was engulfed and it was lovely. 

"I've never had a naked person in my bed with me," Sherlock said. "I'm glad it's you. Let me see your face," he pulled the cover down. "You're so handsome, John, really. Can I kiss you?"

John flushed at his compliment and nodded. "Yeah, you can," he murmured, wanting to kiss him as well. He wanted to tell Sherlock how handsome he was, but he couldn't really make any words come out. When their lips touched he tried to say it there -- pressing into the kiss and humming softly, bringing his hand up to pet his hair lightly. 

Sherlock leaned his body closer, sliding an arm around John to pull him in. He pulled his head back a bit and said, "I've not really felt like this about anyone, John. I don't know why . . . but I just want to touch you. You kind of make me a bit crazy." He leaned in again and just pressed his mouth on John's cheek. 

John nodded. "I've. . .I was with a girl just one other time and I never. . .I don't know. It wasn't like this and I knew her for a long time. I keep surprising myself when I remember that it's only been a couple days. It's okay, right?" 

"I think so, I don't know," Sherlock said, "but I like it . . . I like this feeling and I like even more than you've come here and I can do this," he slid on top of John and kissed him a bit harder on his mouth.

John pressed into the kiss and reached up to hold his hips, trying not to get hung up on the fact that they were naked. It was so lovely. John slid his hands onto Sherlock's chest, curling his fingers into his skin as they kissed. 

Sherlock was starting to get hard but tried not to think too much about it and just snuggled his head into John's neck, kissing and sucking his skin.

John looked at Sherlock with a mix of want and nerves. His own bare cock was pressing into Sherlock's thigh again and he felt the pleasant pressure of Sherlock's doing the same to him. "Sherlock. . .God, you drive me crazy. . ." he moaned, his hands sliding over everything he could. They started at his shoulders and moved slowly down his chest, ribs, sides, hips, lower back, and up towards the back of his shoulders. 

There was an electricity that slid along Sherlock's skin where John touched him. His whole body was warming and he pressed his hips a bit against John. One of his hands got lost in John's hair and the other one moved down John's chest.

John parted his legs a bit and properly pushed up, grinding harder than he meant to into Sherlock's thigh. He moaned softly. "Can we. . .like in the lab?"

"Yes, but . . . can I touch you?" Sherlock said.

John nodded. "Oh, yeah," he smiled shyly. "Can I. . .shift a bit so I can, too. . ." 

Sherlock slid more to the side and moved his hand to John's hip. Then he moved his hands and softly wrapped it around John's cock. "I've never done this to someone else," he whispered.

"Me neither," he murmured as he wrapped his own fingers around Sherlock. He raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's and started to move his hand slowly. "What sort of things do you like?" he asked quietly. 

"I like it slow like that, all the way up and down at first," Sherlock said. "God, I don't know what's weirder -- the fact that we're doing this or the fact that I'm telling you what I do when I wank." He laughed a little. "What do you like?" 

"A hard grip," John admitted. He changed his movement to what Sherlock described. "I like the friction. . ."

"All right," Sherlock said, adjusting his grip. He moved his hand on John as he leaned his head over and kissed his mouth.

John kissed him back, trying to keep his hand movement slow light despite how aroused he was becoming. His free hand slid between Sherlock's neck and the bed, holding his face softly as they kissed. 

Sherlock felt his hips start to move against John's hand and his breathing speed up. "A bit harder and faster now," he said and he focused on keeping his own hand moving on John. He could feel the wetness so he swiped his hand over the top to spread it, which let him grip even a harder while still moving smoothly. He sucked on John's neck and held onto his hair.

John moaned softly and nodded, gripping Sherlock harder. He slipped over the tip and moved his hand faster, adding a small twist.

"That's good," Sherlock said quietly. He shifted his body, partly to get closer to John but partly because his body just needed to move. The hand that was in John's hair slipped to his shoulder and he pulled John to him, kissing his mouth and then just pressing his lips against John's skin. "It feels so good, John," he whispered. He could feel the two of them rocking his bed gently.

"It does," John nodded, resting his forehead against Sherlock's, their hard breaths mixing together. "Sherlock. . .m'close. . .feels too. . .so good. . ." John moved his hand a bit faster, bucking into Sherlock's hand. It felt better than in the lab -- skin to skin contact, comfortable bed. "I want to come with you," John murmured between hard breaths. "Don't. . .don't stop. . .please."

Sherlock could feel the tightness in his belly spread to his whole body and he said, "John, I'm going to --" before he came hard into John's hand. He did his best to maintain his stroke on John but everything was quite chaotic and he could barely get his breath. He could feel his own wetness on his belly and hand, and he kept stroking even as his body still twitched from his own orgasm.

John swore softly because it was so sexy the way he looked when he was letting go like that. The sight was enough to push him over the edge and he came into Sherlock's hand, whimpering his name and bucking forward a bit jerkily. When it was over he curled a bit, wanting to stay very close to Sherlock. 

"I like what you do to me, John Watson," Sherlock whispered into John's hair. "Even though I always seem to end up sticky."

John chuckled softly. "I like what you do to me, too. Sherlock. . .you make me feel so good. . ."

"Do you think we're crazy, John? Is this too crazy? I want to be with you all the time and there should be no reason we shouldn't be -- but this situation . . . is it too crazy?" Sherlock said.

John licked his lips softly. "I think it's. . .an obstacle. That's all." He sighed softly and looked up at Sherlock's eyes. "It's going to be hard being together because of the way we met but. . .I don't want to stop. I can't. . ." 

Sherlock lifted himself up and leaned over John. "I don't want to stop either, John. I don't even know how to describe what I feel because I'm so unused to feeling anything, but I feel like I've met you for a reason and I don't want to stop being with you." He leaned down and kissed John's mouth softly.

"You say such nice things," John smiled softly. He reached up and touched his cheek lightly. "I feel so happy here, I mean, when I am with you. Everything -- I forget everything and there's only you."

"But is it because you like me or because I'm different or because I'm willing to do this?" Sherlock said. "I like you, John. I know I don't know you really well, but I want to because I've liked everything I've found out so far. You seem so good -- you want to do the right things, you don't let things hold you back, you want to make a life for yourself -- and I want to be like that and I want you to be there with me."

John flushed because even though it had been two days for crying out loud, he knew what he was feeling. He thought he did, anyways. "I really like you too, Sherlock. I can't stop thinking about you. . .and I want you to be in my life too."

"Then we need to figure some things out. I know I've arranged for us to be together each day this week, but that's not what I want, John. I don't even want you to leave this room in the morning. I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry I'm getting freaked out, but it feels like your being here is helping me see how stupid I've been and I want to make up for that time I've wasted and I want you to be with me no matter what," Sherlock squeezed his arms around John more tightly.

John curled into him and hugged him back. "If it was up to me I would stay here all day and I would wait for you to come to your room and just. . .do this with me always," he smiled.  

"Well, we do have all night tonight," Sherlock said. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth lightly. Then he moved his mouth to John's ear and licked it before sucking the lobe between his lips and nipping at it. "I want to do more," he whispered as he moved his body onto John's and rocked his hips against him a little. He trailed his tongue down to John's chest and sucked on one of his nipples.

John was about to comment when he realised Sherlock was very serious. He moaned softly and arched against him. "I want to do everything, Sherlock. I just want. . .I want you so much. . ."

Sherlock sat up and said, "Hold on." He stood up and went into his bathroom, running two cloths under hot water. He wiped his stomach and cock and then came back with the other warm, wet cloth. "Let's clean you up first," he said, crawling on top of John. He ran the cloth over John's belly and then up and down John's cock, eventually using it to stroke him until the wet cloth started to cool. He set it on the table and then lowered himself down John's body and pulled the blankets up over them both. He leaned down and licked up John's damp cock. He gripped John's hips as he spread flat his tongue and continue licking.

John squirmed under that warm towel on his belly and then moaned a bit loudly at the feeling of it on his cock. That was different. And then. . .well, he'd thought about this before of course but it felt so, so much better than he expected. "Sherlock. . ." he sighed, lacing his fingers into his hair.  He propped up on his elbow and looked down at him, biting his lip.

"Is this okay?" Sherlock asked. He put his mouth around the tip of John's cock and swirled his tongue across it. He moved one of his hands to John's thigh and squeezed it.

"Perfect. . ." John breathed. He pet his hair and tried to keep his breathing steady. "It feels good, Sherlock."

Sherlock sucked John into his mouth, his tongue covering it and making it wet. He hollowed his cheeks and he lifted his head before moving it back down. He began bobbing, gripping John's thigh again. Sherlock's own cock began to swell.

John fell back flat against the bed and squirmed lightly as heat flooding into his middle. "Sherlock. . .I'm sorry. . .I'm. . .I'm close already. . ." he moaned. Sherlock’s mouth -- the wet heat moving around him -- felt so very good. He hoped he could hold out longer the more they did this but Sherlock had such an effect on him. . .it was overwhelming. 

Sherlock lifted his head and crawled up over John. "Don't apologise, I just want you to feel good," he said, smiling. He moved to John's side and trailed his finger across John's chest and then down his belly to his cock. He held it, occasionally stroking it up and down. "Your face is so handsome when it's flushed," he said, smiling.

John smiled shyly and then started to scoot downwards. "I want you to feel good too," he said, tugging Sherlock's hips to get him on his side. He kissed Sherlock's thigh, around his groin, and then licked up his cock. "Does that feel good?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said, "it's good." He shifted himself to look down at John. "God," he said, dropping his hand to John's shoulder. "It's really good," he whispered.

John smiled and sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing back and forth. He swirled his tongue and flicked it over the tip, humming softly. His hand moved up and down his thigh, fingernails grazing lightly. 

Sherlock rocked his hips a little, pressing himself just a bit more into John's mouth. "John," Sherlock said, gripping his hair. "You do everything right."

John made a small sound like a chuckle as he bobbed deeper, reaching his hand around to hold his arse instead. 

Sherlock took a deep breath to calm himself a bit. He moaned softly as John's mouth moved on him. His body was starting to tense and he felt hot all over. He didn't want John to stop but he also didn't want this pleasure to end. After a few more minutes, Sherlock pulled on John's shoulder. "Stop before . . ." he said, pulling him up into a kiss. "Oh my god, John," Sherlock said pulling him into his arms.

John curled in his arms and smiled, pecking kisses on his shoulder and chest. "I know, Sherlock." .His fingers curled to stroke his skin lightly. 

"That's the first time anyone's done that to me," Sherlock said. "I'll never forget you now -- that felt so good." He held John's hand in his. "What other new things are we going to do together?"

John flushed lightly and smiled. That had been the first time he'd ever done that so he was glad Sherlock had enjoyed it. "Are we. . .will we be going further? Doing more?"

"Like sex?" Sherlock asked. "I've not done that before. I'm not saying I don't want to. In fact, I pretty much do want to. But I just don't want you to have too high of expectations."

"I've never been with a boy so I don't expect anything. But. . .I'm so hard now, and I want to come. . ." John shifted and looked up at him.

"Can we try it? We can stop if you don't like it, but could we try? I want to but only if you do," Sherlock said. His stomach flipped a little with nerves but he just wanted John so much.

John met his gaze and nodded. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I want to. I want you," he murmured, and he leaned up to kiss him hard. 

Sherlock kissed John back. "Do you want to do it to me or me do it to you?"  
  
John bit his lip and met his gaze. "Um. . .will you do it to me?"

"Um . . . okay, I'll try," Sherlock said. "I don't have any condoms or anything, but I've never . . . so I'm okay, I think -- do you think it's safe?" There were a million thoughts going through his head, but he was already shifting his body to get closer to John.

"I haven't either so. . .so it should be okay," John said, shifting slightly underneath Sherlock. "Um. . .don't be nervous, okay? We're going to be fine," he said, trying to convince himself as well. He knew he wanted it, wanted Sherlock, but couldn't deny he was nervous as well. He leaned up to kiss him, not as hard as before but with purpose, holding his cheek.

"All right," Sherlock said, "let's both relax first." He moved down John's body and started kissing his belly, moving down to kiss and lick his thighs. "Just relax now and don't think about it, just think about what's happening now." He said it as much to reassure himself as to reassure John.

John squirmed lightly, unable to get his mind off of what would be happening. But he agreed anyways and took regular breaths to make a proper effort. "Do you want me to stay on my back?" he asked.  

"John, I don't know. Just get however feels most comfortable to you," Sherlock said. He leaned over and reached for something under the bed. "I'm going use this so it's slicker but I think I should use my fingers first."

John had only seen a few videos out of curiosity and it looked like it felt good. He hoped it wasn't going to hurt. He mentioned that a bit shyly.  

"You've watched videos?" Sherlock said. "You really are a pervert, John Watson." He smiled up at him. "Well, at least one of us kind of has an idea of what we should be doing." He lay back down next to John and kissed his mouth. "I'm just teasing you," he said. "We'll be okay. I'm sure we'll figure it out." He kissed John's mouth softly. "Just relax now," he said quietly and he stroked John's cock a few times before slipping his hand between John's legs. He brushed his fingers across John's hole to slick it as he kissed his mouth again.

"I was. . .curious if I'd like it," John said between the kisses, squirming against the touch in such a new area. His own hand came to Sherlock's chest, sliding up to the side of his neck, then to the back of his head. The other hand, laying down between them, grazed along Sherlock's cock. 

Sherlock stilled his hand and felt around between John's legs and finally pushed the tip of his finger inside him. John's body was tight but he could move it in pretty smoothly. "This okay?" he said, looking down at John's face and hoping that he was all right with it.

John shivered lightly. It didn't hurt, exactly. It was just. . .there. He could feel it and for now he didn't know what to think about it. He nodded for Sherlock to keep going. 

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John again and as he did, he pushed his finger in further. He started to move it in and out and started relax a bit into the movement. He kissed John's neck like he had before, except now instead of stroking him, he was just doing this. Knowing John had never done it before actually made Sherlock feel quite good and he could feel himself getting more excited. He lifted himself up a bit so he could look down at John's face as his finger moved. "Move your hips a little," he whispered.

John nodded and did as Sherlock asked, pushing lightly down against his hand. He bit his lip as Sherlock's finger moved deeper into him and he surprised himself with thinking it wasn't quite enough. He was glad natural instincts like that were kicking in. "Another," he murmured, looking up at Sherlock. For a moment his aching cock lay forgotten as he focused on this new sensation.

Sherlock pulled his finger out and pushed two back in slowly, before starting the movement again. He moved his own hips a little, pressing against John. He bent over and kissed John's chest, swirling his tongue around a nipple before sucking on it softly.

It was odd to think Sherlock had never done this before because he was quite good. The double stimulation allowed John to be distracted enough to not feel uncomfortable. He felt the stretch of two fingers, felt them moving even more than just the one, but the pain was subdued to a dull burning as Sherlock stimulated his nipple. John arched into his mouth and moved his hips gently again. He laced his fingers into his hair.

Sherlock dipped down and put a few licks on John's cock. By now he was really aching. "Can I try now?" he said, trying not to sound overeager even though that's a bit how he felt. "I promise I'll stop if you need me to."

John forced all of his focus to what Sherlock's fingers were doing. He'd got used to the two just like he had the one and yes, he did want more again. "Yes, you can try," he murmured. He took a deep breath as his stomach flipped nervously, relaxing his body, keeping himself calm.

Sherlock shifted his body a little, first lying right on top of John and then wiggling down a bit to get between his legs. He rubbed his cock a bit to slick it but he was really excited and didn't want to touch himself too much. He held himself and pressed his tip into John. It was so tight around him, it felt so good. He pushed himself in slowly. He looked up at John. "God, John," he huffed. "It feels . . . are you okay? Does it hurt? God, John . . ."

John had closed his eyes the second Sherlock started to push in. He was bigger than two fingers and there was some actual pain now. But somehow it was still a bit dull, nothing he couldn't stand. And for his first time out was better than expected. He felt himself stretching to accommodate Sherlock and he was just about to lose himself completely in the feeling when he realised Sherlock was speaking to him. He blinked his eyes open and regretted ever closing them. The second he saw Sherlock he smiled softly and nothing mattered but the fact that they were sharing this together. "Don't stop, okay? It's good. . .I'm good," he whispered.

Sherlock slowly started to roll his hips. The pressure of John's body and the slight friction of the movement, it was way better than wanking. He put one hand on the bed next to John's body, leaning on it, and he reached down and started to stroke John. "God, it feels so good," he moaned softly. He was already feeling an urge and his hips started to move a bit faster. He pressed his feet against the bed. "John," he said, his breath already catching in his chest.

John realised he was whimpering softly with every push into his body and couldn't make himself stop. He tried speaking but could only do so between the sounds. "Sherlock. . .it's so. . ." He trailed off as he moaned properly, moving with Sherlock. The burning was gone and he only felt the smooth sliding of Sherlock's cock filling him rhythmically. He brought his hand up to cover Sherlock's, gripping his cock harder as they stroked.

The minute that John grabbed his hand, Sherlock lost a bit of control over his body. Even though he had wanted it to last a long time, he could tell that he couldn't stop now and he came, jerking awkwardly, his legs slipping against the bed.

John was lost a little in all of it but then he came, his eyes rolling back with his orgasm. He tightened around Sherlock, hips jerking with the force of it. He'd never felt anything so good before.

Sherlock shifted his hips and slipped out of John so he just moved to the side of him, flopping down on the bed next to him. He tried to catch his breath and finally said, "It felt too good."

John nodded, panting softly. He turned his head to face Sherlock and grabbed his hand tightly. "I wanted it to go on but. . .it was so good." He turned on his side, wincing lightly, and scooted closer to Sherlock. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, I just . . . wanted it to be special for you but it went so fast because I didn't know what I was doing, I just got overwhelmed because it felt so good and I wanted . . . to kiss more, I guess. I don't know . . . I'm glad we did it, I mean it," he turned and looked at John. "I am, it felt good."

"It was special," John assured him. "Please don't think it wasn't. . .I know it was fast but. . .it was our first time and it just felt so good. I'm glad we did it, too." John laced their fingers and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I'll never forget it."

"Neither will I," Sherlock said, holding John's hand tightly. "I'm glad it was you. I hope . . . we can do it again." He smiled at John's face.

"I'm glad it was you, too," John said. It was almost overwhelming. He smiled back and nodded at his request. "I would like that," he said quietly.

Sherlock squeezed himself against John. "We should go to sleep maybe," he said softly. "I can't think of anything better than waking up and finding you here."

John bit his lip happily because he'd been afraid Sherlock was going to send him away so they wouldn't get in trouble. "Okay," he said. "I'm glad because I didn't want to go after that," he admitted. He rest his head on Sherlock's and closed his eyes.

It was hard to fall asleep -- there were so many things in Sherlock's head. He'd meant what he said to John: he wanted things to change. He didn't want to stop being with John but he knew it'd be nearly impossible for them to be normal while he lived in this house. Eventually though exhaustion came over Sherlock and he fell to sleep.

John fell asleep almost immediately, very comfortable in Sherlock's bed. It was better than his own coupled by the fact that he was breathing in Sherlock as he drifted off.

A few times throughout the night, Sherlock woke up and remembered John was by him. He curled himself against John's sleeping body before falling back to sleep.


	5. Mycroft

John slept deeply through the night, snoring softly beside Sherlock. When he woke up, it took him a second to remember where he was, smiling when he did. The sun was streaming in and -- his eyes snapped open suddenly. He checked the time and shook Sherlock hard. "I've missed breakfast!" John said panicked.

Sherlock sat up sharply. "Okay, let me think," he said, scanning his mind for options. "Okay, get dressed in your clean clothes. We'll go down together -- we'll sneak out somehow -- and we'll come back in through the staff entrance and I'll explain I called for you early and kept you too late. It'll be okay." He stroked John's arm and tried to smile, even though he felt a bit sick about the whole thing. It would be fine -- it's not like Leonore could fire John for something Sherlock had done, but he didn't want to have to deal with it and he didn't want the other staff to hassle John. But he smiled again to try to reassure John.

"Sneak out?" John asked even though he was up and getting dressed already. It seemed impossible to him but Sherlock lived here so he must know a way out that wouldn't have them seen. This wasn't the way he wanted to wake up after the nice time they had last night but what else could they do now?

As soon as Sherlock was dressed, he checked the hall for noise and then they slipped out of the room, down to the back of the house through a small doorway to some stairs. Once they got outside, Sherlock spoke softly to John. "Take a deep breath and we'll go straight back in now," he said. "It'll be okay."  
  
He led John through the staff entrance and found Leonore. "Leonore, I came to apologise for keeping Watson through breakfast. He was very clear that he needed to be back but I was in the middle of an experiment so I kept him with me, despite his protest. I do not want him penalised in any way. Again, I apologise if I disrupted this morning's activities. I will not be needing him anymore today." He turned to John and said, "Thank you, Watson, for your help this morning" and he left the kitchen.

Sherlock felt sick to his stomach -- the sound of his own voice . . . it sounded like Mycroft's and he hated it and himself. He headed back up to his room, passing his mother on the way.

"No breakfast?" she asked.

"I was working out in the lab," he said.

"You boys . . . Mycroft was out early as well. I hope neither of you are up to any trouble," she said.

"I'm not a boy, Mother, and neither is Mycroft," he said, shutting himself into his room.

"You'll take over dishes for the day," Leonore told John. "And do your serving at lunch and dinner. Jones covered for you so now you'll cover him. I don't know what that boy has you doing but you are an employee of his family, not his friend. He can hire an assistant if he wants one." She hurried him off to the sink and John got to work. His happiness faded slightly as he realised he wouldn't be seeing Sherlock again that day, but after what happened this morning perhaps that was best.

At lunch he stood at his usual post and then cleared the plates and went right to the sink again. He wondered if he'd be washing dishes after dinner as well and was tired just thinking about it. He didn't dare ask, however, not wanting to draw any more attention to it all.

Sherlock stayed in his room. He slept for a bit and read the news online. He felt so ashamed of everything about the situation. He wanted to be normal -- he wanted to be able to be normal with John, but in this house, he knew he'd never be. He skipped lunch but knew that he'd not be able to skip dinner without facing Mycroft's wrath.

He went into the dining room and sat down at the table. Mycroft wasn't there. He didn't look up to see if John was in the room.

"Where's Mycroft?" he asked.

"Still at work. He says he's working on some big project," his mum said. "Everyone's got a project these days, eh?"

"I guess so," his father said. "What have you been working on, Sherlock?"

"Just analysing chemicals, I guess," he said half-heartedly. That explanation was apparently enough for his father. The rest of the meal was spent in silence and, as soon as he could, Sherlock excused himself and went up to his room.

He heard his phone go and he grabbed it excitedly, without realising that he and John had never exchanged numbers so obviously it couldn't be him.

_Set your alarm tonight. I need you to come with me at 7am tomorrow. MH_

Sherlock sighed -- knowing he could fight with Mycroft, beg his mother for help, but in the end he'd be going with Mycroft tomorrow morning. So he set his alarm and got into bed ridiculously early and read until he fell asleep.

John had to serve drinks and wash dishes after dinner. It was late when he went to bed. He considered finding Sherlock again, but without having planned it out he was worried about going, about getting caught. He went to bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about everything they had done the night before. He shifted lightly and considered how he physically felt, wishing they could do it again. He wondered what it would feel like doing it to Sherlock and couldn't wait to try that. _If you see him again._ He turned on his side and ignored that little voice because that was just too horrible. He was sure they would figure something out. 

The next morning, Sherlock dressed and went downstairs. His mother was standing by the front door. "Exciting, eh? I wonder what Mycroft's got planned," he said, giving him a small embrace and a kiss.

"Please stop treating me like a child," Sherlock said. "You're acting like it's Take-Your-Brother-To-Work day."  
  
"Maybe he's found you a job -- maybe it'll be something you'll enjoy," she said, fussing his hair.

"Mycroft does not have the slightest idea what I enjoy nor does he care," Sherlock said. "Whatever this is, he's trying to teach me some lesson that will undoubtedly end with my humiliation."  
  
His mother leaned in and said, "Why don't you just try to learn from Mycroft instead of spending so much energy fighting him?"  
  
Sherlock said nothing to that. A car pulled up and Mycroft got out and motioned for Sherlock. He nodded towards their mother as Sherlock walked to the car, sulking.

Mycroft got into the back next to Sherlock. "Stop sulking," he said. "Have you brought your phone and laptop?"

"Obviously."

"Today, I'm going to help you learn a valuable lesson."

Sherlock did not even bother saying that he had predicted that. He sat in silence, watching the grounds pass as they drove by. He thought about John and wished he could speak to him.

The car, however, did not head towards the motorway. Instead it drove into the centre of town.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock said, feeling a little alarmed.

"Here," Mycroft said, but more to the driver than to Sherlock. The car pulled up and Mycroft and Sherlock got out. Mycroft led them to a wooden door and then he turned to Sherlock and handed him a key. "Open it," he said.

"Mycr--" Sherlock started.

"Open it," Mycroft said sternly.

Sherlock unlocked the door and stepped in. It was a small flat, sparsely furnished. He turned to look at Mycroft.

"As you never cease to remind us all, you are an adult, Sherlock. And despite your unwillingness to act like one, you seem to expect to be treated as one. So here you go, Mr Adult Sherlock Holmes. Welcome to your new flat." He paused and reached into his pocket. He handed Sherlock some cash. "You'll need to take care of yourself now -- you'll need to go out and buy the things you need, you'll need to figure out how to spend your time. You're in charge now, Sherlock. You're the adult now."

Sherlock laughed at Mycroft. "Is this some joke? Does Mother know you're doing this?"

"It's not a joke, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "It's a test. Look after yourself for twenty-four hours and our parents will pay for this flat until you find yourself a job or decide to go to university. You can come back tomorrow and get what you want from the house and you can live here as an adult. If you can't make it twenty four hours, I'll find you a job and you'll work for me."

Sherlock didn't really know what to say so he said nothing.

"You know how to reach me, Sherlock," Mycroft said, turning and moving towards the door. "But a text from you will be as good as an admission that you're ready to work for me so think carefully about what you do."

John hurried down to breakfast the next morning but didn't see Sherlock there. He hoped Sherlock wasn't skipping meals because of him and he wished he could assure Sherlock that it was okay if they were in the same room together. Despite reminding himself of all the nice things Sherlock had said to him, he couldn't help the small nagging feeling that maybe that had been it. Just a one time thing. After he was finished with his duties for breakfast he strolled out to the grounds and went to the lab. He tried the door but it was locked. He knocked but got no answer. 

"Looking for your boyfriend?" John turned and saw the girl from the garden watching him and he rolled his eyes at her comment, trying not to give anything away. "Might want to hide those better," she smiled sarcastically, tapping her neck. John brought his hand up to his neck -- had Sherlock left marks? No. . .surely he would have noticed when he showered this morning.

"Where is he?" John asked, ignoring her comments. 

She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to John, shaking her head as if she felt sorry for him. "Didn't I tell you at the beginning? We are just workers here, and they will use us for whatever they like and then toss us aside for someone else."

"Where. Is. He?" John asked angrily now. It didn't help that he'd subconsciously thought of that himself. 

Her look of sympathy was nothing but mocking now. "His boyfriend's." 

"You're lying," John said immediately. 

"You think so? I saw his brother take him into town this morning -- even had an overnight bag or something." John shook his head and started walking away from her. "You're just old news!" she shouted after him. 

John hurried away faster and turned around the corner of the house, his eyes burning. That couldn't be right. It couldn't. Sherlock had said -- but those were words, weren't they? Sherlock could have said anything. . . John's eyes started to burn and he pressed them hard with his palms, unwilling to believe that Sherlock had tricked him. He went into the kitchen and found work to do, busied himself with things. He got through lunch and then volunteered to wash the dishes, not wanting to hole up in his room with his thoughts.

Sherlock stood silently in the flat for a few moments after Mycroft left. Surely this was a joke. He walked around the flat -- there was no food in the fridge or cupboards, but there was a kettle and some dishes. The bedroom had a dressed bed but the wardrobe was empty. He sat down at the small desk. He opened the drawers which were empty except for a pen and small pad of paper on which Mycroft has written "You can always call if you need me." He ripped the piece off and crumpled it up. He wanted to call John but had no way to reach him.

He looked at the pad of paper and started to write out a list of what he needed. He felt for the key in his pocket, locked the flat door and walked down to the shop. He got everything on his list and returned to the flat.

It was barely even noon yet. He made himself a cup of tea and curled up in a chair in the sitting room. He didn't know what to do. He tried to think of what he'd be doing if he were at home -- he couldn't get to his lab and as much as he wanted to see John, he couldn't go home without it seeming like a defeat. He didn't want to be defeated -- partly because he didn't want to give into Mycroft but more importantly, isn't this precisely what he was just telling John he wanted? Didn't he want to show John that he could be an independent adult, a grown up who made grown up choices like John did? He got up and grabbed the piece of paper. On it he wrote:

_12.08 I hate Mycroft. I wish my family were normal. I wish I could speak to John. I'm glad I've met John._

Then he put the piece of paper to the side and opened his laptop. He read the news online and did the crossword puzzle. Eventually he fell asleep on the chair.

Dinner came quickly at the house and the empty seat where Sherlock sat drew John's eyes the whole time. _He's with his boyfriend_. John shook his head to clear the thought but it clung on. He washed dishes again after dinner, scrubbing too hard in his anger and actually breaking one of them. Leonore sent him to bed and he paced for a long time, the two sides of his brain fighting about whether Sherlock had lied or not. He couldn't avoid John forever. He would just have to get the truth when Sherlock came home.  

When Sherlock woke up in the chair, it was evening. He thought about John at his house. He probably hated Sherlock now. They'd had sex together and then didn't speak for the rest of the day and now he was gone. It'd been a full day now since he'd last seen John and it was horrible and it was more horrible worrying what John was thinking. He sat up and grabbed the piece of paper again.

_17.43 ~~I wish I could speak to John~~. I want to see John. I want to apologise for what's happened. He is more important to me than I think I can even understand._

He went out again and got some fish and chips, which he brought home and ate. It made his stomach hurt a bit, he wasn't used to such greasy food even though it had tasted quite nice. He had another cup of tea and tried to look up more information about universities online, but that made his stomach hurt even more so he double checked the locks on all the doors and went into the bedroom. He turned on the bedside light and took off his clothes. He didn't have any pajamas so he just got into bed with his boxers and t-shirt on. He leaned over to put the housekey into the bedside cabinet and in the drawer he found another surprise from Mycroft -- some condoms, lube and a box of tissues with a note that said "Adult=Responsible." Sherlock felt his face flush with embarrassment; he felt as humiliated as if Mycroft were actually standing there watching him. He wished he had pajamas. He turned out the light and rolled over in the bed.

Was Mycroft just embarrassing him or did this have to do with John? He started to worry about John -- would Mycroft say or do something to him, try to humiliate him as well? John had so much more to lose; Mycroft could do so much more damage to John than he could to Sherlock, who was more used to it. Sherlock leaned over and looked at his phone. He wished he could reach John. He grabbed the pad of paper and using the light of his phone wrote:

_23.14 I will kill Mycroft if he hurts John. I care about John, I don't even understand why John means so much to me, but I will do whatever I can to make sure what's happened between us does not hurt his future._

He closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. He wished he could sleep until noon and then he would have done it, he would have passed Mycroft's stupid test, and he could go home and try to speak to John.

The next morning Mycroft made his way to Leonore's office. "After he's through with his breakfast duties, could you please send John Watson to my study?"

"Of course, Mr Holmes," she said, wondering what made this young man so popular in the household.

Mycroft went into the dining room and sat down, saying good morning to his parents. At one point he held up his glass asking for orange juice but didn't look at John when he came over to pour it. No one mentioned Sherlock's absence and they all left once they had eaten.

When John was clearing the plates the girl from the garden walked through the dining room. "Must have been a late night -- oh! He hasn't even come home, has he?"

"Shut up!" John snapped, hurrying back into the kitchen. He hated that girl. He'd been trying very hard to keep thoughts like that away, not wanting to get hung up on them until he knew the truth. 

"Leave those, Mr Holmes wants you," Leonore said, taking his tray. John's heart jumped right into his throat and he turned to go. "His study is in the first floor, behind the staircase and to the left."

"His study?" John asked, turning back. 

"Yes, his name is on the door."

John nodded and left the kitchen. Did Sherlock have a lab and a study? It seemed odd that he would want something in the house. He looked up at the door and saw Mycroft Holmes written on a small plaque. His heart fell straight down to his navel as he knocked on the door. He didn't dare go in like he would with Sherlock. 

"Come in," Mycroft called, not getting up from his chair. Before John could speak, Mycroft said, "John Watson, I need to ask you -- have you heard from my brother in the last twenty-four hours? Any type of communication -- text, phone call, email . . . late night visit? It is vitally important that I know if you have heard from him in any way at all."

John flushed at the question and immediately thought to lie, but then he remembered there was nothing to lie about. He hadn't heard anything. "No," John said, shaking his head. "I've no idea where he is." He couldn't possibly be at a boyfriend's house if Mycroft was asking John this, could he? Unless it was a secret and he was worried John was going to spread it around? 

Mycroft stared up at John before determining that he wasn't lying. "Thank you for being truthful," he said, standing up. "I'm afraid we won't be needing your services anymore. I understand you were working here to save money for university and far be it for the Holmes family to deny the world a potential doctor, so please accept this cheque for the inconvenience. I may have also secured you another position in town, if it's amenable to you, though I'm sure the pay is not quite as good. If you'd like to go pack your things, I'll have my driver take you there now. Good day." He motioned towards the door and sat back down, reading some papers on his desk.

At the flat Sherlock woke up around nine. It had technically been twenty four hours since Mycroft had dropped him off, but he was afraid to call in case he'd got something wrong and Mycroft interpreted it as Sherlock giving up. He wrote on the paper:

_8.58 I wish I could have seen John's face next to mine on the pillow. I don't understand what Mycroft is doing. I don't want John to hate or forget me._

He got up and brushed his teeth with the toothpaste and toothbrush he was very proud of himself for buying. He took a shower, realising while he had remembered soap, he had forgotten shampoo. He dressed in his clothes from yesterday. He got the pad of paper and carried it into the kitchen where he turned on the kettle. He wrote down 'shampoo' and sat at the table to drink his tea and wait for Mycroft's next move.

John was having a hard time process the words Mycroft was saying. "Sacked? You're sacking me?" he asked quietly. "I. . .I don't. . ." But when Mycroft looked up he simply waved him out of the room again. John felt his whole body numb. He looked down at the check and then looked around the hall. What was he going to tell Sherlock? How was he going to tell Sherlock? Where was Sherlock? Instead of going to his own room he went upstairs to Sherlock's, shutting the door behind him. His eyes burned at the sight of the bed, but he took a deep breath and pushed all of that away. It didn't matter anymore. He took paper from Sherlock's desk and wrote 'I've been fired.' For a second he considered adding his number but then he changed his mind. He'd never be able to move on if he kept expecting Sherlock to call. 

Once John had left, Mycroft picked up the phone and rang down to Leonore's office. "Once John Watson has packed, please direct him to the car waiting at the front door. You'll need to hire his replacement."

In his own room John packed the few things he'd brought with him and then went to the kitchen to say goodbye. Leonore was wringing her fingers, as if she was actually sorry, as if she regretted having been so hard on him. She walked him outside and pointed him to the car. "He insisted," she said when John made to protest. John got into the car and gave his home address even though the man never asked. 


	6. The Wooden Door

The car drove off. The driver turned towards town and eventually pulled over. "Take your stuff, it's the wooden door," he said, shaking his head and pushing away John's offer of payment. He drove off as soon as John got out of the car.

John looked at the wooden door and remembered Mycroft saying he'd got John a new job in town. This must be it. He had no idea what it was -- it looked like a simple flat -- but he went up to the door and knocked anyways, hoping he wouldn't have to explain why he was there. 

Sherlock heard the knock at the front door. He took a few deep breaths and tried to settle his nerves. He had done it after all -- it wasn't the greatest twenty-four hours of his life, but he had looked after himself and he hadn't had to call on his parents or Mycroft at all. He had been an adult -- he had done it. He knew it would be a challenge to keep it up, but he found himself actually looking forward to seeing Mycroft's smug face accept the fact that Sherlock hadn't failed.

He opened the door.

John's bag fell out of his hand. He stepped back, his heart down in his stomach again and his eyes welling up. Was the new job with Sherlock's boyfriend's family instead? How cruel. . .had Mycroft known? Was this his way of punishing John for getting involved with someone in his family? His mind was racing out of his control and he hardly knew what he was saying as it flooded out of his mouth. "I was fired, and frankly, I don't want to work for your boyfriend so. . .so I am going home. . ." He picked up his bag again and turned to leave, hurrying to the street again to find a taxi.

Sherlock's face spread into a smile when he saw John, but his angry voice confused him. "John!" he called, grabbing his arm. "John, what are you talking about? I don't have a boyfriend. What has Mycroft told you? Please . . . come back."

"I. . ." He pulled his arm away and couldn't make himself look at Sherlock. His mind was screaming Sherlock's words at him -- _I don't have a boyfriend_ \--and they were the only things keeping him there to explain. "I was told you went off to your boyfriend's house and that. . .that employees get used all the time when it suits your fancy," he stuttered. "Your brother fired me and told me he found me another job and sent me here. . ."

"I don't understand any of this," Sherlock said, "but please come in . . . please." He looked at John's face -- it's all he had wanted to see for the last day and now he was worried John was going to leave. "Please, John, come in . . . it's my flat, I guess . . ."

John looked at Sherlock. He shouldered his bag and followed him inside. He had promised himself he wasn't going to overreact, that he wasn't going to let anyone change his mind about what Sherlock had told told him and without realising he'd done exactly that. "I'm sorry. . ."

Sherlock stepped back into the flat and stood awkwardly near the door. Then he said, "I'll make a cup of tea" and moved to put the kettle on. "I have to be honest, John. I don't really understand what's happening. Mycroft brought me here yesterday and said I could stay if I could last one day here on my own. Which I have. I thought it'd be him at the door, telling me it was all a big joke. He didn't say anything about sacking you, I swear. I didn't know anything about it and I would have stopped him if I could have."

"I looked for you," John said. "I thought you were skipping meals because of me. And then I waited for you by your lab and that girl -- the one that works in the garden -- she told me she saw Mycroft taking you to your boyfriend's and you had your overnight bag and everything. She. . .she said that it happened all the time. I didn't want to believe it, Sherlock. I kept pushing it away and remembering the things you said to me but you never came home and you were still gone this morning and then. . .and then Mycroft fired me. He gave me a cheque and said he found something else for me."

"John, you should have . . . you must know none of that is true," Sherlock said. "I don't have a boyfriend, I never had a boyfriend -- think about it, you know I don't know how to be a boyfriend. I don't know why she said that . . . I told you the staff hated us. Maybe she was just trying to get back at you because of . . . me." He stopped and looked down. Then he brought the teas to the sitting room and said, "I have to tell you something. I thought of you all night. I worried that you would hate me because I couldn't explain. I don't even know that I can explain now. I'm so sorry you're involved in . . . whatever this is."

"I don't care, Sherlock. The job. . .I mean, I don't understand and I know I need it to make money but none of it matters to me anymore. You matter to me. He fired me and the very first thing I thought about was how I was going to tell you. About how I could linger there long enough to see you one more time because when I left. . ." He trailed off and looked up at Sherlock. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"I'll have to call him. I need to know if this is real or not," Sherlock said. He picked up his phone and called Mycroft. He put it on speaker phone so John would know he wasn't hiding anything.

"Are you calling from a hospital or police station?" Mycroft answered.

"No, I'm at the flat. I survived. I bought things, I ate, I did it. Now what do I do?" Sherlock asked.

"Is John with you?" Mycroft asked.

"I'm sure you know he is."

"Do you want him to stay with you? The cheque is large, Sherlock, you don't need to feel guilty if you don't."  
  
"Am _I_ staying here?" Sherlock asked.

"I explained the test and you seem to have passed. You can stay. The flat is paid for, you'll still get your allowance but it won't last forever. You'll need to get a job. John will show you how, he'll need one as well," Mycroft explained.

"Why have you done this?" Sherlock asked.

"Because, like it or not, I do have a responsibility to you, brother. I'm sure I'll find other ways to make you miserable, don't you worry. Have you shown John what's in your bedroom cabinet?"  
  
Sherlock grabbed the phone and hung up. He looked over at John. "Do you want to stay? You could just stay for a bit until you know for sure. I won't lie -- this is weird, John. Do you want to try?"

John nodded. "What's in the bedroom cabinet?" he asked. Of course he was going to stay with Sherlock. And finding another job shouldn't be that hard.

"Things . . . I can show you later. Are you going to stay, John?" Sherlock said.

John nodded again. "My family already knows I am living where I work. This is just slightly different. But I don't like having all of this money from your brother so I'd like to give it back and just keep whatever I earned from working there. Do you think he'll take it back?"

"No, he won't take it, John. Put it into a savings account. Don't be daft, it'll pay for a year of university. I've got some money now. I can get the rest of the flat set up until we get jobs," he looked up at John. "That's the more practical stuff. But I want you to keep the money so that if things don't go well -- if you change your mind -- you know you're okay to get by. I want you to want to be with me. I don't want you to ever feel trapped. I want you to want to be with me, not with what I have. I don't want you to worry about you'll lose if you decide to go."

"Sherlock. . .I don't want your money now and I definitely won't if things don't work out. I want you. I like being with you, it makes me happy, and I don't care if we lost the flat and. . .and had to live on the streets," John said dramatically, grinning at him. "I like you a lot." 

"John, I don't want to live on the streets. I want to live here, with you," Sherlock said, standing up. "Let me show you around. I got some things yesterday -- I forgot shampoo -- and Mycroft said I could go back to the house and get my things later."

"I just meant I don't want you to think I am here because your brother gave me money," John corrected, ditching his bag to follow Sherlock around the flat. "I have shampoo with me."

"I know what you meant. I just don't want money to be an issue. We can both work and pay for each other until we decide what to do next. But just in case . . . you know you'll be okay," Sherlock said. "Well, what do you think? It's not as fancy as the house but it's all right, isn't it?" For some reason, he already felt a bit house proud having made it through the day on his own. He wanted John to feel like it could be his home as well.

John nodded. "It's great, Sherlock." He smiled up at him and looked around again. "There's no lab. Whatever will we tell people we're doing all day?" He sighed dramatically as if this was a legitimate problem.

"I think I realised I need some hobbies -- I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself for the last day. I just couldn't feel settled . . . I'll still be able to go use the lab. Maybe when my stuff is here, I'll feel better. I guess I'll just have to grow up a bit," Sherlock said. "There's only one bedroom, John." 

John looked back at him and wondered why he mentioned that. "I. . .aren't we sharing? Or only when we have sex?"

"John!" Sherlock said, his face flushing. "I want to share but I just wanted to point it out. I just want you to know what you're getting into. Pervert." He smiled.

"Well, I just assumed we would be!" John grinned. Sherlock was so cute when he flushed like that, and it was fun to tease him.

"Let's kiss," Sherlock said, grabbing onto John's hands. "Please. Let's kiss in our new flat."

"See? You can hardly control yourself," John smiled, and before Sherlock could reply he leaned up and kissed Sherlock, pressing against his lips and lacing their fingers.

Sherlock leaned into John's kiss and somehow it felt different -- more real, even more meaningful. He put his arms around John and held him tightly. "I know it's stupid, but I missed you so much."

"Then we're both idiots because I missed you too," John admitted. "I didn't like not seeing you."

Sherlock kissed John's mouth again. He dropped his hands to John's lower back and pressed him closer. "Remember when we had sex and it was a disaster? I have a feeling I'm better at sex now. I hope you'll give me another chance."

"I didn't think it was a disaster," John said, slightly hurt that Sherlock had thought so. "I thought it was nice. . .our first time, you know? Didn't it feel good for you?"

"Of course, it did," Sherlock said. He kept his arms around John but felt like he couldn't look straight at him. "I just wanted to be better at it -- I just didn't want it to be something else I was bad at. I wanted to sweep you off your feet and make you never want to be with someone other than me. It's stupid, I guess, but you know, I'm just embarrassed that it had to be sneaking around my parents' house instead of properly, like adults."

"You have already swept me up, love, and I don't want to be with anyone but you. I knew that when you held my hand in the lab," John said. "That was our first time together, and sure we'll learn what we like and get better and last longer, but we're doing that together. It's good," John said. "And now we can do it literally anywhere," he smiled.

"Let's do it in the bed the first time," Sherlock said. "It'll be our bed."

John grinned and nodded. "That's perfect, yes," he said. "Perhaps we should save other surfaces for when we've had more practice," he said, pecking Sherlock's lips.

"Can we try now?" Sherlock said, pulling on John's jumper.

John nodded, lifting his arms for Sherlock. "Let's go to the room now," he said, taking his jumper and his bag. "I want to undress you on our bed," he smiled.

Sherlock felt his stomach jump a little and he led John into the bedroom. "I'm still a bit nervous," he said, sitting on the bed.

John bit his lip. "I am too," he admitted, pulling open the buttons of Sherlock's shirt and sliding it off. It was different now than the first time. Alone, no need to rush, daylight streaming in. . .he could properly examine Sherlock, admire his body. His eyes trailed down his chest and stomach, fingers soon following. "You're so lovely, Sherlock. . ." he murmured quietly.

"You are," Sherlock said, "you're so handsome." He lifted his hands to John's face and held it. "I want to make you happy, John."

"I am, Sherlock. I promise." John leaned in and kissed him as he unbuttoned Sherlock's trousers. "I want to see you properly," he murmured. "Will you let me?"

"Okay," Sherlock said. He slipped down his trousers. "Pants, too?" he asked, a little nervously.

John nodded. His cock was getting harder at the thought but he wanted to focus on Sherlock just then. "Would you lay back for me?" John asked quietly, fingering at the elastic of Sherlock's pants.

"All right," Sherlock said. He lay back down on the bed and looked up at John, lifting his hips a bit to help John take down his boxers. He felt a bit awkward being naked, but he tried to just take a deep breath to relax.

John's eyes moved over every inch of his body, starting up at his shoulders again and trailing down -- his arms with the lovely hands, his flat belly with shadows of hidden muscles, his cock still getting hard, his long legs. He was gorgeous. John climbed up at his feet and crawled over him, pressing a kiss to his navel and trailing kisses up to his mouth, kissing him show and deep. "Thank you," he said before resuming the kiss. 

Sherlock enjoyed the touch of John's kisses on his skin and then on his mouth. He reached his hands around John's head and held it. "Thank you for what?" he asked.

"Picking me," he murmured. "Letting me look at you. Bringing me here. Everything," he said quietly.

"I don't feel like I picked you. I feel like I found you," Sherlock said. "I think I love you, John. I don't really know what that means but it's the only explanation I can think of." He buried his face in John's shoulder.

John flushed brightly and kissed his temple hard, and then his head several times. "Sherlock, I think I love you too."

"If you love me, you'd be nude as well," Sherlock said, smiling at John. "Come on now, be fair."

"I was busy," John said quietly, shifting to sit on his knees. He pulled at his trousers and pants together, slipping then off and hurrying to get over Sherlock again.

Sherlock slid his arms around John's back. "Lie down on me," he said. "I want to feel you against me."

John did as Sherlock asked, and because of their height difference and John lining up their faces, his cock pressed into Sherlock's stomach. They weren't doing anything yet and he was so hard already. He squirmed lightly and buried his face into Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock slid his hands down to John's hips and rocked them as he lifted his own. "I want to do it again," he said softly. "I want to."

"I do too, Sherlock. Clearly," he teased softly. "I want to with you. . ."

Sherlock lifted his head and kissed John's mouth hungrily. He moved to John's neck and kissed him there.

John tilted his head back, rolling his hips against Sherlock's belly lightly. His hands gripped the bed by his shoulders tightly.

The movement of John's body was making Sherlock crazy, but he tried to concentrate on his breathing for a few minutes. He just wanted to feel a bit more relaxed and in control of things this time. He pressed his hips up against John, feeling the friction of John's movement against his cock. "Keep moving like that for a few more minutes," he moaned softly, "it feels good."

John nodded and found his mouth again for another kiss, steadily and gently grinding his cock against Sherlock's belly. He was leaking -- he could feel it sliding between them and he had a wild urge to lick it up, to clean his belly before they moved on even though it was his own. He kissed Sherlock harder.

Sherlock kissed John's mouth hard and then said, "Let's turn on our sides." But when John moved over, Sherlock shifted upside down, lying with his face next to John's cock. "Touch me while I'm touching you," he said and he began to stroke John, smearing the wetness over him. He kept his grip hard but the movement slow to start with. 

Taking the chance while he was there John licked across belly, cleaning up the small amount of precome there. His hand found Sherlock's cock and he stroked slow and softly as he licked and kissed his stomach.

Sherlock tipped John's cock into his mouth and sucked the tip. Then he licked up and down the sides of it before stroking again as he covered the tops of John's thighs with kisses. "I like the way you taste," Sherlock said.

John buried his face into Sherlock's thigh and smiled. "You taste good too," he murmured. He moved and kissed Sherlock's cock, flicking his tongue over the tip.

Sherlock reached his hand round and held John's balls as he continued to kiss and lick John all over. It was all so intimate, so strange for someone who had shared so little of anything in his life. It was what made John special -- that he let Sherlock do these things, but also because he inspired Sherlock to want to do them. 

John started to suck his cock properly, humming softly at all the different things he was feeling. Everything felt amazing with Sherlock and he couldn't get enough.

"John, that's good," Sherlock said and he moved back to John's cock, licking it before sucking it down. He tried to just concentrate on how everything -- what he was doing and what John was doing -- felt good, without getting overwhelmed by it.

John imagined what they looked like now and moaned softly, loving that they could do this and experience it together. He rubbed Sherlock's thigh, petting lightly as he bobbed back and forth.

Sherlock slid his hand up and down John's body, just touching as much of him as he could. He then pulled himself away from John and sat up a bit. "Lie properly on the bed, put your head on the pillow," he said. He leaned over and got the lube out of the drawer and poured some into his hand. "I want to use my fingers on you," he said, giving John a quick kiss.

"The mysterious object in the drawer, at last," John smiled, shifting to lay more comfortably. He pulled his legs up a bit, biting his lip.  

Sherlock rubbed his hand between John's legs, making everything slick. His own cock felt wet from John's mouth, but he tried not to think about that just yet -- he wanted to think more about his fingers and what they could do. "Were you sore yesterday?" he asked as he softly brushed his fingertips all around John's hole.

John nodded. "But I hardly noticed because there were so many other things going on," he said. "I was okay by the time I went to bed. . ."

"Just let me know if you need me to stop or change something," Sherlock said. He pushed one finger into John and started to move it. He leaned over and licked John's cock, before snuggling himself down against John. He kept moving his finger and said, "I want this to feel good" as he kissed the skin on John's hip and pressed himself against John's leg.

John nodded but knew there would be no need. It felt good, better than the first time now that he knew what to expect, knew what could come from it. "Sherlock. . .it's so good. . ." 

Sherlock watched his finger moving into John. He turned it and curled it and tried to watch John's responses to see what he liked best. He occasionally leaned over to lick John's cock and balls. It made Sherlock feel good to know he was making John feel good. He pressed against John's leg and squeezed one hand under John's back to wrap around and hold him. 

John closed his eyes and moaned softly, squirming to buck against his finger a bit. "Sherlock. . .can I have more please?" he asked quietly. "Please?" Half of him wanted to go slow, but the other half was remembering what happened before and he really wanted Sherlock like that again.  

"Be patient," Sherlock said, smiling as he looked up at John's face. "We don't have to rush now." He slipped his finger out and pushed two in. The pressure of John's body against his fingers made him feel like John was holding him and this made Sherlock's cock ache. He moved his hand a bit faster, trying to keep a steady rhythm. "Does more feel good? Will you do this to me sometime?" he said, watching his fingers again.

"Of course I will, Sherlock. Feels. . .brilliant," he breathed, taking slower, deeper breaths now.

"I like hearing the sounds you make," Sherlock said. He looked up at John again. "I want to try it now. I'm so hard, John, I want to do it." He kept moving his fingers, separating them a little, as he pushed them all the way in and pulled almost all the way out. "Can I? Please?"

"Yes, God yes," John moaned, pushing harder on his fingers. "Sherlock, please. . ."

Sherlock slid out his fingers and sat up between John's legs. He leaned over and kissed him and then pressed his forehead to John's, saying, "You need to be patient, John Watson. We're going to do it three different ways but we both need to last, so be patient, okay?" Then he sat up, put on a condom, poured some more lube into his hand and stroked himself a few times. He leaned back over top of John, kissed him, and then guided his cock between John's legs before pushing it slowly into him. "John, fuck, you feel so good," he moaned as he began slowly rocking his hips.

John's brain was stuck on three different ways and he received a bit of a shock when Sherlock pushed into him. "Sherlock! Oh God. . ." he moaned, gripping the bed sheet tightly. It was such an intense fullness like nothing else. . .it felt so very good. "Kiss me," he murmured, trying to pull Sherlock down, desperate to release some of the lust filling him, swelling his heart.

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John as he rocked his hips into him. This is what he had wanted last time -- this made the connection a million times better. He dropped onto his left elbow and slid his right hand down to John's cock but just held it. He kissed John's mouth and then his face and then looked into his eyes and said, "John, this is so good" and then he kissed his mouth again. 

John hummed his agreement into the kiss, bringing an arm up to lace into his hair, to hold some part of him close. He was murmuring softly about how good it felt, saying Sherlock's name, petting his hair and moving lightly to match his movements.

"God, John, I kind of already feel like this is my favourite, but let's try it a different way now," Sherlock said. He pushed himself up and pulled himself out. "Go on your hands and knees and let's try that," he moved back on the bed, stroking himself lightly as he waited for John to move.

John did as Sherlock asked, turning his head to look back at him. He imagined seeing Sherlock this way bit his lip at the thought. He also watched Sherlock's hands moving on his cock and huffed softly.

Sherlock raised up on his knees and moved towards John. He held one hand on John's hip and pushed into him again. It felt different. It felt like he could move more easily, which was good, and the angle felt nice, but he wished he could see John's face. "Do you like this better?" he asked John.

John hummed his approval. "It's. . .deeper," he said quietly, turning his head. "But I can't see you. . ." It did feel good, Sherlock sinking in deeper and at a better angle.

"Is this what you saw in the videos you watched?" Sherlock said teasing John. He put his hands on John's hips and pulled them back against him. He moved a bit harder, but not too hard because he didn't want to hurt him. Then he slid one hand around and rubbed John's cock and balls.

John nodded, now groaning softly with each movement. "This. . .is better. . ." John said, smiling back at him. He reached back and held Sherlock's hand over his hip. "You feel fantastic, Sherlock. So. . .so fucking good. . ." he moaned. 

"Tell me when you're close, John, I want to try one more," Sherlock said in between pants. He felt warm and his heart was beating faster and he realised he could so easily lose himself and let his body go, so he tried to focus on stroking John's cock in the same rhythm as his thrusts.

"I've been close since we started," John mumbled, turning back to smile at him. "You're so sexy, Sherlock." He dropped down, his face falling into his pillow as he turned his head to the side to look at Sherlock again. "What's. . .what's next?"

Sherlock moved back from John and dropped down on to the bed next to him. "A kiss first," he said and kissed John hard on the mouth. Then he scooted over a bit and said, "Now you get up on your knees on top of me." 

"Oh. . ." John moaned softly, crawling over Sherlock. He kissed him again, meeting his eyes. "You've been watching videos too, I think," he murmured, scooting back again. He lined Sherlock up and sank down slowly, his head falling back. "Oh. . .fuck. . ." he breathed, touching his lower belly as he settled onto Sherlock. "Sherlock. . .oh God. . ." He moved slowly up and down, gripping Sherlock's thigh to keep steady. 

"Fuck, John, that feels incredible . . . lean down first," Sherlock said, pulling John's shoulders towards him, "then we can kiss." Sherlock realised then that he absolutely loved kissing and wondered if it was kissing in general or just kissing John. He squeezed his arms around John and then slid his hands to John's hips, gripping them, "Rock your hips instead of moving up and down." He kept his own hips still to feel John grind against him.

John rocked back and forth, not lifting away from Sherlock and he shuddered. "Fucking hell, Sherlock. . ." John moaned loudly, rocking harder. "This is. . .my favourite. . ." he breathed, panting heavily as he moved. He brought his mouth to Sherlock's and kissed him hard, a bit sloppily. 

"John, this feels so . . . I'm going to come soon," Sherlock said. He kissed him again and then pushed him up a bit. He slid his hand down and gripped John's cock, stroking it hard. "Move however you need to to come, John," he said, moaning a bit as he started thrusting his hips against John.

John rolled against Sherlock, moving up and down and suddenly he was calling out with each movement as Sherlock hit his prostate. It wasn't long after that. "Faster," he moaned, and when Sherlock quickened his stroke, John leaned forward, over him, coming with a loud groan. He squeezed around Sherlock, rolling harder. 

Watching John come, feeling it happen in his hand, made Sherlock's body jerk with his own orgasm. He called out John's name, too loudly maybe but what did that matter -- they were in their own flat now, he could be as loud as he wanted to. He pulled John down against him, grasped his hands around John's back as they were both panting and recovering. "John," Sherlock said as if it were the only word he could say and he hoped John knew all the other words that came with it.

John panted heavily against him, wrapping his own arms around Sherlock tightly. "That was so good," he said. He wanted a better word and couldn't think of one appropriate enough, He propped himself up to look at Sherlock, petting his hair back and smiling. "You were brilliant."

"You . . . John," Sherlock said, smiling stupidly. "I still can't believe everything that's happened, that now we're here and I love you so much." He squeezed him again.

"I know," he murmured, laying against his chest again. "It seems strange that I haven't actually known you my whole life," he said. 

"I want to know you for the whole rest of my life," Sherlock said, kissing the top of John's head.

"You will. We will always be together now," John smiled, returning the kiss onto his shoulder.


End file.
